The Darkest Shadows, The Brightest Lights
by Naga
Summary: Bakumatsu Kyoto, 1865 - Kenshin had barely time to grief before he was plunged again into killings and conspiracies.
1. I see you in my dreams

Prologue : I see you in my dreams

**Prologue : I see you in my dreams...**

Night...

Moonlight glinted off the tip of the upraised katana, the silvery light contrasting with the dark crimson blood running down the blade, a bare instant before it slashed down in an inhumanly swift arc. A scream echoed off the narrow alley, the last one to join the other dying shrieks that chilled the air before. A new spurt of liquid splashed off the already stained walls, streaming down to join the others painting the walls scarlet.

_Unreal, the silent observer thought__, so much blood, running like rainwater. As if Kyoto itself is bleeding from all the killings. But then, Kyoto had probably seen enough over the years to wash it with blood several times over._

A slight lone figure stood in the thick shadows of the narrow alley, as still as the broken bodies sprawled and slumped around him. Ruby droplets slowly slid down the katana he held pointing downwards. He lightly stepped across the crumpled forms of his victims, careful to avoid the pooling wetness in which they lay.

A sudden scream once again pierced the air, higher in pitch, full of despair and heart-crushing grief. The samurai stopped in his path, his high ponytail snapping back as he whipped his head up. A young woman stood near the far entrance of the alleyway, bowed nearly double over one of the figures lying on the ground, her hands covering her mouth and part of her face. _"Anata," she screamed, __"husband, no! NO!!"_

_The observer started. *Anata.*A delicately beautiful face floated in his mind's image,eyes young and old at the same time like pools of darkness pulling at him, to drown in the depths of their sorrow..._

_ _

_...beloved... _

The samurai in the alleyway started walking again, outwardly impassive. Only the observer saw how his fingers clenched and unclenched over the hilt of the katana, a barely noticeable tremor running through them.

Just as he was about to step out of the alley, the young woman looked up from her crouch near her dead husband. Her face, ravaged by tears and grief twisted into a demon mask of hatred. A small dagger appeared tightly clutched between her hands. "Murderer," she screamed at the passing samurai, "give me back my husband, you murderer!" She lunged wildly at him from her crouching position, dagger angled up to stab his chest.

A sharp clang of steel against steel rang sharply in the night air, followed a moment later by a loud clatter as the dagger fell to the pavement a few yards away. The katana had intercepted the dagger in a blur of motion, too fast for the woman to see clearly. She knelt on the ground where the force of the blow had thrown her, holding her bleeding fingers. All at once, the insane fury seemed to leave her and she slumped to the ground like a broken doll, a wordless keen starting on the back of her throat.

The samurai looked at her for a moment more before carefully wiping his blade on a piece of cloth and sheathing it. Turning around he started down the street soundlessly. Just before he turned around a corner, the woman lifted her head up and shrieked at him, "You will pay for this, murderer! Everyone you've killed, we will haunt you for the rest of your miserable life, *Hitokiri Battousai*!!" Finished, her hands once again wound themselves around a metal hilt, this time the wakizashi of her dead husband.

_For the observer, time seemed to suddenly slow down. *No!*__ His silent scream seemed to spur the samurai to leapt into action, sprinting back the way he came, hand outstretched towards the woman. Too late__, he realized with sickening certainty. I'm too late, as always. _

The sound of steel stabbing into flesh was too familiar to both the samurai and the observer, but somehow this time it was different. Red bloomed around the cold steel imbedded in her chest, staining the delicate blossoms of her kimono. The fall of her body seemed too slow, echoing another fall from memory, another woman with white blossoms on her kimono.

The samurai stood over the woman's still body, breathing heavily as he had not when he had cut down the men in the alley. His hand was still stretched in front of him, uselessly. His chest hurt, another echo of memory from the past, of pristine snow stained red with heart's blood. Slowly, he knelt down on one knee, gently turning over the slender body twisted around the short sword. The woman's face turned up towards him and the light of the moon fell squarely on her still white face.

Delicate face, beautiful still in repose deeper than sleep, long thick lashes covering endless pools of night, closed forever by his own hand. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down her pale lips, lips as soft as silk. A face as familiar as his own, indelibly imprinted in his memory as the scars on his cheeks.

The pain in his heart wrenched it to pieces, each shard twisting more painfully than any sword cut. He gasped for breath like a dying man, his hands slick with *her* blood. No amount of water would ever wash this sin away. The samurai and the observer both mouthed the name of the woman... _Tomoe_

He woke up with his hand reaching for her, his dark eyes stark with tearless pain. He grasped only empty air, as he had countless times before. Cold pain seemed to sear his left cheek, drawing an instinctive reaction as he lowered his hand to touch it. His fingers grazed the scarred flesh, and he froze. Slowly,the fingers curled into a trembling fist, and he deliberately let his fist thumped to the thin mattress.

The young man with a name that inspired fear into both enemies and allies, the legendary executioner of Kyoto, spent the rest of the night gazing up the ceiling, listening to his heart tearinghis soul apart with a single name.

_Tomoe._

***


	2. Vision from the past

Chapter 1 : Vision from the Past

Chapter 1 : Vision from the Past

_---August 1865, Kyoto - Kanto Festival_

The annual Lantern festival was in full swing. The streets were strung with hundreds of glowing paper lanterns, lighting the night with brilliance. People thronged the streets, couples strolled through stands selling snacks and toys. Children ran shrieking with wild abandon, crowding around stands offering games, pulling their parents to join thegatherings around street performers doing their wonders. 

A thick crowd was lined along the streets - the main attraction was parading its way down the main roads of inner Kyoto. Festival participants balanced bamboo poles hung with tiers of lantern of different shapes and heights, sweating with exertion but grinning at all the enthusiastic clappings and gasps from the spectators. The lantern arrangements were a wonder of balance and creativity, the light they cast almost turning the night into day. Festive music drifted to the streets from the larger restaurants here and there. Those with more money were inside enjoying the fine food and finer entertainment.

It was hard to believe that Kyoto was in the middle of civil war. The specter of death that lately hang constantly around the capital city of Japan was banished for today, the uncertainties and worries for the future set aside in this night of celebration. The people of Kyoto had had enough of death, and the night was still young. If the shadow of the reaper still lurked just beyond the circles of illumination, if the inevitable would still return tomorrow to claim their dues - then it only made the celebrations today all the livelier, the laughter louder and more boisterous. For today, the people of Kyoto celebrated their living. 

***

The small ramen eatery was packed full with people, the rougher and poorer sort. Two overworked waiters dashed in a near run along small spaces left between the all-male patrons. The air was noisy with shouts for more sake, more food, and faster service. 

The curtains at the entrance was swept up again as another customer came in, a slight young man with a high, reddish ponytail. He hesitated at the entrance, perhaps reconsidering his choice of eating place. The youth's left cheek was covered by a white dressing, the rest of his finely delicate features too pale and too thin - as if he was just recovering from an illness. There was weariness in the way he stood and the worn, stark black tunic he wore added to his haggard appearance. The set of daisho at his waist attracted a few looks, but not many. In these increasingly turbulent time, even young men barely into their adulthood were given swords to carry.

"Irasshaimase," the nearest harried waiter greeted the newcomer. "Douzo, please take a seat, we'll be with you shortly." With that, he scurried back to attend to a more than slightly drunk crowd near the kitchen. 

Looking around again, the young samurai sighed and wound his way through the tight passage between tables and bodies to find an empty seat. He found one near a corner, the other seats occupied by three older men. He politely excused himself and sat in the remaining place. The three men continued their heated conversation, ignoring him.That suited him just fine. He snagged a waiter that passed close-by, ordered a beef ramen and green tea, and settled himself against the wall. 

"Of course the 'Silver Springs' is the best in all of Kyoto," one of the men was exclaiming enthusiastically, "Who could possibly rival the 'Crimson Blossom' Komagata Yumi? Ooh, I would have paid my whole year salary to be accompanied by her for just one night !"

His companions laughed coarsely at his fervent words. "Yes, but would she want to service an oaf like you ?" one of them mocked the speaker with a grin, "She's very picky, that one. If she doesn't like you, then she won't even bat an eye-lid at you, no matter how much you pay her." 

His other companion chortled gleefully, "Heh, heh, so true. And how much canyou pay anyway ? There were so many men after her, officials, samurais, rich merchants' sons, she has so many to pick from. Why would she pick you loser ?"

The first speaker went red in the face, aided by the not inconsiderable sake he had downed, "So what if I'm not rich ? Not some damn stuck-up samurai ? I heard she got secret lovers that she bedded without pay. If she likes them enough, she'll even pay for their expenses..."

The young samurai tuned down the various loud conversations in the room into a muted roar. Hugging his katana against his right shoulder, he let his weary body relaxed slightly against the wall. The sleepless nights and rigorous activities were taking a heavy toll on him, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a safe place and get some sleep. 

But that was the catch, a "safe place". There were precious few of those left, and after being surprised in two places guaranteed by his fellow Ishin Shishi as safe, he was starting to doubt that there were any secure hiding places left.

His knuckles tightened momentarily on the hilt of his katana as he thought of the traitor that had spilled so many of their secrets to the government. So many of his fellow revolutionaries died during the surprise attacks launched by the Shinsengumi. He had barely been able to protect Katsura-san and the others, and escorted them to safety during twice of those attacks. The first time he had escaped unharmed, his skill carving a way out for his leaders. But the second time, he was not so lucky.

Unconsciously, he rubbed against his bandaged right side. Burning pain punished his meddling, forcing him to surreptitiously bit down against the pain. The second time they had been ambushed, it had been the First Troop of the Shinsengumi, and he had comeface-to-face with the famous Captain of the First Troop - the smiling, soft-spoken Okita Souji. The young captain had deliberately sought him out and engaged him in a single duel to free his men to attack the rest of the Ishin Shishi. 

Okita Souji had been as good as his reputation, perhaps even better. Normally, he would have been able to at least fight him to a draw, but his first duty was to protect his leaders. He had sacrificed his left side, taking a deep three-inch sword wound to break away from the duel and back to the side of Ishin Shishi members. They were lucky the sky had chosen to dump a heavy rainstorm on them right then. Visibility was reduced to practically nothing and he managed to guard his charges until they could loose themselves among the woods. Not everyone had made it.

Strange that he had lived with the traitor for so long without suspecting a thing. Strange to realize how naive he was then, despite everything he had seen and done. Because of him they had lost so many good people, the movement forced to take a step back to rebuild their forces. Because of him, he had lost... 

...her...

A wave of weariness swept over him, dousing the simmering anger. The bone-deep fatigue that he could not seem to shake off ever since that winter. _Was it really only eight months ago? When I was truly happy, for the first time in so long... I wanted nothing more... _

He looked up with haunted eyes at the opposite wall of the small eatery. _Why did I come back here? , he thought tiredly. __Out of all the restaurants in Kyoto, why here? As if to answer his unspoken question, an image came to his mind - a slender, delicate figure sitting quietly beside a table opposite him, her long raven hair falling down to cover her face. He did not need her to raise her head to know her face. _

He stared at her blankly, _a mirage, is that all I want? Just to see her ghost for a while. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the table opposite was occupied by a group of rough dock-workers, laughing and drinking sake. He lowered his eyes to the floor.__ It's alright; even a mirage... is alright._

His train of thought was interrupted by a hurried, "Douzo," as the bowl of ramen and tea he had ordered was placed in front of him. "Arigatou," he murmured but the waiter had already bustled off. He sipped his hot soup slowly. It burned a trail of warmth down his throat, warming his cold limbs. The air was balmy, but he still felt a bit chilled.

It was probably foolhardy for him to volunteer for this current mission in his condition. But it was a very dangerous mission, almost suicidal even. With his skills, he might be able to accomplish it and return alive. Others might not have that chance. When the mission had came up, he had volunteered without hesitation, understanding the importance - no, the desperation behind it. The ambushes and loss of safe houses from vital information leakage had hit them badly, and the Ishin Shishi needed this mission to succeed. Or the Shinsengumi would simply continue to tear them to death piece by piece.

Besides, if anyone was to die so others could live, who better than the killer who had the blood of hundreds on his hands. It would be fitting. It would even be justice.

A sudden bang in front of him jolted him from his thoughts, his body reflexively tensing. He forced himself to relax when he saw it was one of his table-mates who had bang the table to make his point. It was the half-drunken one, his face now flushed with more than just sake. 

"That's my point! Who the hell do they think they are? Setting fires all over Kyoto, what if the fire spread to other areas?! Damn those Ishin Shishi, it's not their city that's going to get burned to the ground! " Apparently, somewhere along the way, the conversation had turned into more serious things. 

*The burnings*. His hands tightened around the bowl he was holding, but outwardly he remained impassive. 

The drunken man's more sober companions tried to shush him, nervously glancing around the room.Heads had started to turn, attracted by the loud noise. 

"Not so loud, Fuji," one of them hissed, "They're just burning the gaijins' houses. It's none of our business."

The man called Fuji did not heed the advice, raising his voice even louder and slurring slightly, "It's always us ordinary people who got it worst. How many times did the Ishin Shishi clash with the Shinsengumi? These days, you can't even walk on the street without being afraid that you'll run into a fight and get killed! By both sides! Things weren't so bad before those _roshis moved in here, they're troublemakers, all of them!"_

From a table near the entrance, a big burly man who had had quite a lot to drink himself shouted angrily, "What did you say?! It's spineless cowards like you that made the gaijins step all over us. I say let those dogs burn, good riddance!" The man's friends muttered their assents, glowering darkly at the three men. A tense quiet was falling over the small restaurant, the other patrons wary of a possible fight.

"Ah, hah, hah," the older of Fuji's friend laughed nervously and tried to appease the big man, "Please, don't mind my friend, he just had a bit too much to drink. He didn't mean anything by it."

"Humph," the burly man snorted, "You're lucky I'm feeling generous today. A free piece of advice for you, you go on talking like that, you're not going to live very long." 

"Ah, yes, yes. Thank you for your warning." The older man heaved a sigh of relief as the other man ignored him, going back to his own conversation. He slapped Fuji over the head none too gently, "You idiot! Are you trying to get us killed? You never know who's government people and who's Ishin Shishi, best to just keep your mouth shut." He shot a quick glance at the young man sharing their table, but the latter ignored them, quietly sipping his tea. 

The scare seemed to have sobered the other man somewhat. "Sorry," he muttered softly, a hint of bitterness still in his voice. 

The third man coughed and tried to switch the topic of conversation. "Say, have you two heard of Shinsengumi's big fight against Ishin Shishi two days ago?"

His sober friend snorted, "Yes, about fifteen times. Heh, everybody's been talking about that. But I heard they bite the dirt again, like last time. Didn't manage to collar the big ones."

"But I heard that Captain Okita Souji got into a duel with Hitokiri Battousai. And I heard he nailed that demon good."

That bit of news seemed to cheer up Fuji, "Really?" he boggled at his friend, "Now that's one piece of good news. And not a moment too soon, I tell you. Should have killed him since the beginning, then we wouldn't have had to bury so many people."

None of them noticed the pain that flickered briefly in the samurai's eyes, before disappearing once again behind the expressionless mask. 

"Eh, I'm not so sure," the second speaker snorted. "How many times did the rumors said somebody has finally killed the Battousai? And every time he re-appeared again happily chopping people up. I wouldn't be convinced until I saw his head displayed in the public square. It's not so easy to kill a shadow assassin like him."

"But Captain Okita Souji could do it," the third man argued. "And if not him, there is still Captain Saitoh of Shinsengumi Third Troop."

"Hmm," the other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "Yes, if anyone could, Captain Saitoh Hajime could kill Hitokiri Battousai." He grinned, "I would have love to see that match."

"Hah," Fuji slapped him hard across the back, "you'd probably end up a smear on the dirt in no time at all."

The other man sputtered in outrage but the samurai was no longer listening. He finished the ramen that he barely tasted and got up from his table. Leaving a few coins on the table, he replaced his daisho against his waist and traced his way back outside.

At least, that was his intention.

The same man that had shouted down his table-mates earlier started up from his table in an unsteady lurch, maybe intending to harass the waiter or to relieve himself. Unfortunately, he was nowhere near sober enough to stand on his own. He ended up lurching straight towards the youth heading for the exit. 

In no mood for such foolishness, the samurai simply stepped aside and let the drunkard fell on the floor. But the man's flailing arms snagged the nearby table and he landed on top of the neighboring table. Crashes and shouted curses filled the air as the man pulled the table down along with him, and the ramen bowls and sake bottles on top of him. His friends sprang to their feet while the previous hosts on the fallen table snarled obscenities and wiped ramen soup from their hands and clothes. 

The samurai calmly picked a free path and continued towards the exit.

"WAIT, kisama!!" the enraged bellow from the floor stopped him. Turning around, he saw the fallen man struggling to get on his feet. He was drenched all over with soup, sake, and tea. Strings of noodles and the odd few seaweed tangled with his hair. It was a ludicrous sight, and some of the patrons started sniggering. The man's face grew impossibly redder, and his eyes spat fire at his target, the slight youth in front of him. 

"SHUT UP!!" he thundered angrily at the crowd, then turned towards the samurai. "What the HELL d' you think you're doing?"

The object of his ire merely looked at him blandly and replied calmly, "I didn't do anything."

But the man was not going to be reasonable. He was drunk, he was humiliated, and he had a ready target in front of him who looked like an easy victim. His gaze drifted to the set of daisho on the other's waist and sneered contemptuously, "You're a samurai? What did you do to get those? Kiss some ass? Go back home to your mama, boy." With that he hooted with laughter, his drinking companions immediately joining him. 

The samurai's eyes narrowed as he assessed the rowdy crowd coldly. Only the man in front of him had a katana. The others carried short knives, but none of them looked sober enough to use them properly. From their earlier words, they seemed to have no love for the government, but their attitude disgust him. Drunkards and bullies, he hoped they were only a local gang and not actually part of Ishin Shishi, but that was by no means certain. 

He was planning to attract some attention, but not from his own side, and not the attention of petty thugs like these. He had a mission to accomplish. With that, the cold emptiness enveloped him again, the anger and disgust dissipating like smoke. Without a word, he turned around to walk out of the exit.

Seeing the youth turning his back on him, the drunk man sneered and spit on the floor. "Don't walk away when I'm talking to you. " With that, he lunged towards the young man, fully intending to lift him by the scruff of his neck. 

The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on the pavement outside the small eatery, his rump smarting from the rough landing. Blinking some of the stupor out of his eyes, he saw the young samurai standing in front of him, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of his katana, his dark eyes looking down on him with cold disdain. It was that disdain that made him snap. His vision turned red and he forgot to question just how a small youth had managed to threw him on his ass without him even realizing it. 

"WHAT ARE YOU MORONS WAITING FOR?! GET HIM!!" 

With a rather discordant roar, the rest of the gang piled out of the door and flung themselves at the samurai. 

The young man nimbly leapt away from the clumsy attacks. At the last moment, his right feet shot out and tripped the lead attacker. The man immediately fell face-first to the ground, and tripped two more of his friends on the way down. 

"SOORREAARHH!!" the remaining screamed and charged towards the samurai with their short blades unsheathed. 

On seeing the naked blades, a hard glint came into the young man's eyes.Instead of withdrawing, he suddenly surged forward to practically within inches of touching the two men. Before they could withdraw the now hopelessly extended blades, the red-headed samurai had brought his wakizashi up in one smooth arc, still sheathed. It cracked against the nearer man's jaw with sickening force, the deceptively elegant move strong enough to break the man's jaw. He went limp and began to fall to the ground. 

The other man used the precious second to leap back out of reach. Gleefully noting his opponent's apparent mistake, he swung his blade towards the youth's wide-open left side. A swift blur was the onlywarning he had before the sheathed blade of the katana followed the circular path of the wakizashi and crashed into the side of his neck. He was out before he landed on top of his friend, both of them crashing to the ground almost in the same instant. 

Less than five seconds had passed.

By this time, the other three gang members had finished picking themselves up from the ground. But the fall, and the sight of their friends being beaten so easily, had knocked some sense into them. They stood there nervously clutching their weapons, none of them eager to go first. Meanwhile, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the altercation on the street, people drawn in from other parts of the crowded street. 

The samurai calmly replaced his daisho against his belt, his right hand hovering over the hilt of the katana, right foot forward and body slightly crouched. Even to those without formal sword-training, the formal stance for battou-jutsu was easily recognizable. 

The gang members' faces were acquiring a distinct greenish cast, and they looked as if they desperately wished they were anywhere else but there. That fact did not escape the samurai's sharp gaze.

"I don't want to kill you," he said in a cold voice, the sudden words making his opponents jumped. "Leave, and I won't pursue this. Continue this foolishness, and next time, it will not be the saya that hit you."

His opponents looked at each other nervously, but before they could say anything, their leader shoved his way forward with an angry roar, "What kind of good-for-nothing cowards are you people? Afraid of just one brat barely out of the cradle?! Idiots!!"

He planted his foot firmly a few feet before the samurai and crouched down in the identical stance of a battou-jutsu, his left hand gripping the sheath of his katana tightly. The samurai observed him with cold eyes. The leader at least seemed to have some proper sword-training, and the adrenaline seemed to have sobered him up. 

"Come on, samurai," he grated angrily, twisting the last word into a curse. 

"KURRAAEEE...!!" With that shout, he grounded his left feet firmly on the ground and leapt forward, pulling his katana out of the sheath with twice the speed of a normal sword slash. But to his opponent, it was simply too slow.

The samurai uttered no battle cries. His eyes blazed with a sudden cold light and faster than his audience could see, he sprang forward on his right feet. His katana transcribed a perfect smooth curve ending precisely before the hilt of his opponent's weapon, barely half out of its sheath. 

A loud ring of metal against metal jarred the air. The force of the blow, aided by the incredible speed of the draw wrenched the katana out of its owner's hand. It slammed into the wooden support structure at the eatery's awning where it continued to tremble from the residual force.

For a moment, an eerie quiet fell across the crowded street. Then, as if a bubble had burst, the cheering and clapping started. But the two main participants simply stood silently regarding each other. The older man's face was a study of mixed emotions - stunned disbelief, anger, and reluctant fear mixed with something akin to awe. 

When the rest of his gang members approached him, he wordlessly turned around and left the clearing, ignoring his katana that was still stuck to the awning. After shouldering their two unconscious members, with many wary glances at the samurai, the rest of the gang took off after their leader, their previous bravado and belligerence gone without a trace. 

The young samurai re-sheathed his katana, and staring at all the audience, gave a small shake of his head, tiredness warring with disbelief at the surreal situation. He saw the owner of the restaurant, a portly middle-aged man, standing near the door. He counted out some coins and pressed them against the man's hands. Meeting the owner's startled gaze, he quietly said, "I'm sorry for the trouble. I hope this is enough to cover any damages." With that, he turned around to leave the place. 

"Wait," the owner suddenly called out. He turned his head to see the man coming towards him, smiling widely, "I remember you, you often came here a few months back, didn't you?" He laughed loudly, slapping the young man hard across the back, making him stagger a little, "Yes, and the last time there were a bunch of good-for-nothings asking for a fight, too. Harassing that pretty young lady, wasn't it?"

He chattered on, not seeing the samurai's face turning pale. "Did you see her? She left just after you did, in a hurry too! I thought for sure that she was going to go and thank you for your help. So, did you see her?"

The samurai raised his head weakly to meet the boisterous owner's grinning face, and softly replied, "No."

The man frowned, "Ah, too bad I suppose," then he brightened again, dismissing the answer, "You're welcome to come to my place anytime, young man. It was rare nowadays to see such good young people. Too many people simply don't care about what's right, and what with the Shinsengumi and Ishin Shishi clashing all the time, us ordinary people need all the help we can get."

"Thank you," the young man murmured, his eyes lowered. "I'm sorry, but I need to go now."

The owner blinked, "Ah, yes, yes. Go quickly before you were caught for disturbing public peace. Although we could all testify that you're only helping to preserve public peace. Ah, hah, hah!" 

The samurai hurriedly left the circle of people surrounding him and disappeared into a side alley. Without anything else to watch, the crowd began to disperse, some still talking about the fight they had just seen. But one person did not go back to the revelries. He left the area with quickening footsteps, as if on a pressing business. 

***

The night was silent once again, the celebration having come to an end hours ago. Even the most foolhardy of drinkers had already seek their beds, or the nearest convenient resting place. The only sound was the occasional banging of the nightwatch, marking the time.

A silent shadow flitted through the rooftops of Kyoto, a male figure covered from face to toes in black. He reached his destination and crouched down on the tile roof of a small inn. Slowly, he lifted a few of the tiles, careful not to make the smallest noise. With barely more than a whisper of rustling fabric, he dropped down the hole he had made into the dark corridor in the building's upper floor. 

The intruder went on silent feet to the room at the end of the corridor and stopped in front of the sliding door. Reaching inside his waistband, he came up with a thin reed tube. Carefully, he pierced the tube through the paper covering of the door, pressed his mouth against the tube, and blew softly. On the opposite side, a silent puff of white smoke came up from the tube mouth, quickly dispersing into the air. 

After waiting for a few moments, to make sure the sleeping powder had taken effect, he slowly slid the door noiselessly aside, and step warily into the room. He could see a lump nestled under the blanket on the futon in the corner. Quietly, he slid a dagger out of the sheath in his waist, and moved closer to the futon. 

The faintest rustling behind him was the sole indication that something was terribly amiss. But before he could turn around, a cold steel edge was pressed against his throat. 

"It is a bit too late for a friendly visit, isn't it?" a soft voice murmured behind him. A slight pressure on the blade pressed him to move further into the room. The door slid shut with a whisper. The intruder was beginning to sweat.

"Who sent you?" No answer. "Very well, I can guess the answer anyway. Tell Captain Okita Souji of the Shinsengumi First Troop," the blade pressed harder against the throat, "meet me tomorrow same time as now, at the clearing near White Fox Shrine west outside of Kyoto. We'll continue our 'unfinished business' there."

Swallowing against the sharp steel, the newly-drafted messenger quietly asked, "And who should I say the message came from?"

The small room was silent for a moment - then,

"Hitokiri Battousai." 

With that, the cold pressure against its neck was lifted. The black-clad man turned around and scrutinized the red-haired samurai standing behind him in his black tunic, his unsheathed katana on his right hand. A large cross scar could be seen on the young man's left cheek. Wordlessly, he passed the samurai and disappeared down the dark corridor. 

Himura Battousai slowly sheathed his katana, his eyes glinting colder than the steel blade in his hand. 

"So it begins ... Okita Souji."

***

Notes :

1. This is kind of an introduction chapter, explaining the recent past and the current circumstances, and setting the stage for the next chapter. 

2. "Katsura-sama" is Katsura Kogoro, Kenshin's superior as shown in the manga. 

3. 'roshi' is masterless samurai, a lot of those during Bakumatsu. I got the impression that many of them join either sides, Ishin Shishi and Bakufu (including Shinsengumi). 


	3. Weaving Strands

Subject: [kffdisc] Darkest Shadows, Brightest Lights chap2

Chapter 2 : Weaving Strands

Captain Okita Souji of the famous Shinsengumi First Troop was bored. From his second-story vantagepoint, he could look down on all the people thronging the street outside the Shinsengumi headquarters, as they enjoyed the beautiful autumn morning. It was one of those cloudless, picture-perfect sunny days. And here he was trapped inside his office listening to his accountant drone on about inventories.

He swallowed a regretful sigh. Ever since he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, he was more acutely aware of the passing sands of time, of how little time he had left to enjoy life.That brought a small ironic smile to his lips. It was funny how the thought of his own mortality had never crossed his mind. Being protector of the capital city Kyoto, especially during civil unrest time such as now, was surely more likely to claim his life than the slow illness. Yet he did not truly believe that. Maybe, like all young people, he too thought that he would live forever.

With an effort, he brought himself back to reality. As a Captain of the Shinsengumi unit, his duty did not just involve the physical fighting, but also the tactics, long-term planning, logistics and administrative duties. Boring, but essential to his men. Still, even he had a limit as to how long he could listen to a monologue of inventories and budgets.

His idle thought was interrupted by a knock on the office door. "Come in," he called out cheerfully, trying to mask undue glee at any kind of interruption. One of the secretaries peeked in timidly. "Takei Fujita-san is here to see you, Okita-san."

"Ah, yes. Arigatou, Mitsukake-san. Send him in please." He made a mental note to try and make the young woman more comfortable with him. She seemed so timid around him, probably intimidated by his reputation. Fame had too many detractors as far as he was concerned.

"I am very sorry, Honda-san, but I sent the man waiting outside to gather some urgent information. Perhaps we could continue this another time?"

"Of course, Okita-san," the man murmured, pushing his glasses up and quietly withdrawing without another word. At least the man was perceptive.

The door opened again to admit a thin man in his thirties, with non-descript face and neat bland clothing. He was the kind of man that people would pass in the street without even noticing. Perfect for an Oniwabanshu omnitsu. The man bowed respectfully to Okita.

"So, how did it go?" Okita asked quietly, his mind now fully alert and focused on his job.

"Hai. As you ordered, after obtaining the man's resting place, I went for a visit late last night, around three in the morning. I regret to say that although I'd taken utmost precautions, he still managed to take me by surprise. That led me to believe that he was expecting me."

"Oh?" Okita rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully. "So he *was* trying to attract attention with that stunt at the restaurant."

"Hai. He also sent you a message." Okita's eyebrows rose slightly at that. "He asked you to meet him tonight around the same time as my visit, at the clearing near White Fox Shrine westof the city, to continue some 'unfinished business'."

"Hoo, interesting," Okita remarked with a mild smile.

"He's gunning for you, Okita-kun," a new voice sounded from the door that opened to admit a tall, thin man in early twenties, dressed in the formal white and blue of Shinsengumi. The man walked into the room with an arrogant saunter, a smirk adorning his sharp face.

"Saitou-san, haven't seen you in a while, my friend," Okita greeted the newcomer warmly while the omnitsu turned and bowed.

Captain Saitou Hajime of the Third Troop of Shinsengumi casually hooked a chair with his ankle and seated himself. "I've heard of your exploits lately, all the way from Edo. What? You've been losing your touch? Can't you handle a few rag-tag band of rabid dogs?"

Okita, accustomed to his friend's acid tongue merely smiled and turned back to the omnitsu, "Is there anything else you need to report to me?"

"No, sir."

"Very well then, you are excused. You have done well, it is not your fault Hitokiri Battousai was lying in wait for you. Please send my thanks and regards to your Okashira."

With a final bow, the Oniwabanshu omnitsu left the room as quietly as he had come in.

Saitou raised a laconic eyebrow, "You've always been too soft-hearted. He failed, and you praise and console him. Me, I don't have time for baby-sitting."

Okita laughed softly, "It really is not his fault, Saitou-san. The Oniwabanshu are the best at what they do. Their failure only confirmed to me whatBattousai is really up to."

Saitou leaned forward to take the cup of tea Okita had forgotten on the table. "Are you going then?" he asked as he sipped the tea.

The other Captain was silent for a moment, turning to gaze out the window at the autumn morning outside. Saitou waited patiently. Finally, Okita turned back toSaitou and smiled his characteristic warm smile.

"Of course."

Saitou continued to sip his tea, his unreadable eyes focused on Okita. "Need any help?"

Okita shook his head, "You are still officially on leave. I can't possibly take any time from your well-deserved rest."

Saitou snorted, "Most of the other captains are going to be busy tonight, thanks to those fool rumors of a riot. I heard Mitsukake-san said that except for your First Troop and mine, the rest will be busy guarding the high official's places. Although having us there so blatantly completely defeats the purpose - those anarchists will simply choose another day to do it."

"I know Saitou-san. But the orders came from high above, there is no way Kondou-san can refuse."

"Hah, the moment even the slightest risk is posed to their precious properties, they panic and pull all security forces to protect themselves. We're becoming little more than their

personal bodyguards. In the meantime, we're not even doing what's supposed to be our job - patrolling the streets."

Okita said nothing. Saitou replaced the cup on the table and continued, "Tell you what, I'll take care of a little business first, then I'll come around the time you take off and supervise the night guard duty. You go and have fun. Or don't you trust me?"

Okita laughed, "Of course I trust you. All right, if you insist. I do feel safer with you here, although I think your dedication to your work is a bit too much. Live a little, Saitou."

"*You're* telling me," Saitou murmured with a small smirk.

Okita's smile was tinted with just the barest hint of sadness.

***

Later, after nightfall, another meeting took place in a small, rickety hut huddled in a run-down section of Kyoto. Its interior was pitch-black in the shadows, voices barely above the sigh of the wind drifted unheard in the abandoned shelter. The occupants of the hut had made sure no one was close enough to overhear.

"All preparations are complete, Katsura-san, Ieda-san. Himura Battousai had contacted the Shinsengumi; the duel was tonight, close to dawn. We will be informed when he leave. Okita Souji has not called on any of the other Shinsengumi captains to replace him."

"Good. That concludes our part. Will it do, Ieda-san?"

The voice was an old, garrulous bass. "Hmmph. Fine. The riots I have ordered will start around midnight. It's quite easy to stir up those from the poorer sections, and there are many roshis who are itching to vent their frustration. I told our men to direct the disturbances near the officials' houses. I don't think they could actually damage them, but fires and looting in nearby houses will do. Those cowards would never let any of their security go, the Shinsengumi are as good as tied there."

"Oh, by the way, tonight is as good an opportunity as any for attacks on the gaijins.I've told others to burn some of the establishments. If they are forced to let go of some of the security, it would be to the gaijin-dogs' places. It will be to our advantage."

"... yes. It is."

"Hai, Katsura-san. However, one thing has changed - Saitou Hajime arrived back from Edo yesterday."

"..."

"He will be... dealt with. Concentrate on your own task, and be prepared to move faster."

"Should we inform Battousai?"

"No, he has enough to occupy him."

"Or maybe, not enough."

"What do you mean, Ieda-san ?"

" ... he thinks too much."

"We have been over this. He is too valuable to waste."

"He blames himself for his victims, and that incident with his wife... I am not sure how reliable he still is."

"You saw how he protected our people during the ambushes. Rest assured, he will never give anything but his best for the movement, he is that kind of person. But he may not be that forgiving with himself."

"You are saying..."

".... I'd be happier if he could be allowed a little time to rest before the next mission. I don't want him to push himself over the limit, he does that too often lately for my liking."

"Hopefully, this operation will give us all some breathing space. You hear that, young man? Do *not* fail us."

A smile in the dark. "Hai, Ieda-san."

***

On the night of the duel, the full moon was half-obscured by rain clouds, the weather having taken a turn for the worse. The abandoned White Fox Shrine was a mass of dark shadows half-hidden among the thick copse of trees. The long grass growing in the open area beside the shrine rippled like velvet in the cold night breeze. The only sound present was an eerie rustling of wind passing through leaves. A slight figure stood unmoving in the center of the clearing, waiting.

A barely audible crack of breaking branch caused him to tense, his right hand tightening on the hilt of his katana. Another man moved out of the wood into the half-light of the moon, his short ponytail swept by the wind into his neat bangs, the white and blue pattern of his haori proclaiming his identity to the waiting person.

He stepped into the circle of the clearing and stopped a few yards from his opponent. Resting his hand loosely on the hilt of his sword, he greeted the man in front of him with a friendly smile, "Kombanwa, Himura-san. I did not expect to see you so soon, after four days ago."

The red-haired young man stared back at the Shinsengumi Captain coldly, his face expressionless. "I don't like unfinished business, Okita Souji. And I have yet to repay you for that cut you gave me last time. "

"Ah, so this is personal? Not Ishin Shishi business?"

"Killing you fits both personal and group obligation. Therefore... " The young man's eyes seemed to shine with cold fire and he crouched down in battou-jutsu stance,"you must die."

It was certainly direct. Okita remembered the last time he had seen the Battousai's sword draw. Shinsengumi's blood had darkened the earth on their last encounter. Since then, he had spent countless nights thinking of ways to counter the deadly fast draw.Now he was going to risk his life on his conclusion. Still calmly smiling, Okita Souji slowly drew his katana out of the sheath and leveled it towards his opponent. "We shall see."

For a moment, the two figures were as still as statues, then both of them exploded into motion. Himura Battousai's long hair streamed behind him as he dashed towards Okita Souji - his katana a cold arc of lightning, a dragon's claw flashing to rend its enemy's body to shreds. Almost at the same time, Okita Souji leapt backward and swung his katana in front of his chest, supported by the saya in a diagonal cross. He braced for the impact...

The loud, jarring sound of tempered steel clashing together rang harshly in the clearing, two figures merged into one for a timeless instant, then quickly leapt apart.

The shorter samurai straightened himself and brought his gleaming katana level to his face, the darkness in his eyes mirroring the dark stain on the blade's pristine length. "First blood is mine, Okita Souji."

On the ground between them, a saya lay in two broken half. Okita Souji stood hunched slightly, a long clean gash across his chest, darkening around the edges. The wound was not deep, but it stung. He had partially blocked the strike with the saya's support, but he had underestimated the fierce strength of the attack. Or perhaps, the will of the man driving the attack.

It was not a mistake that he would repeat.

He gripped his katana with both hands, his eyes beginning to burn with battle-lust a twin to his opponent's. "Only the last blood matters, Himura Battousai."

Once again, the clearing was filled with the clashing sounds of the dance of death.

***

_Back in Kyoto..._

Saitou ran as fast as he could, not wasting his breath on curses. His blue and white tunic was spattered with red stains, none of them his own. The three men who had dared to ambush him were no match for him and they had paid for it with their lives. But he had a horrible suspicion that they had gotten what they were after - time. He was late. He hoped nothing would happen, but his pessimist side scoffed at that thought.

_By this time, most of them should have left the building. Let's hope the rest are smart enough to stay put. _

***

On the rooftops, another dark figure nimbly sped among the shadows of Kyoto. But unlike the previous night's omnitsu, this one seemed almost to melt into the darkness, passing within hearing distance of the nightwatch guards without them sensing anything amiss. Soon, it halted a block away from a large two-floor structure, the dark eyes behind the facemask it wore seeming to dissect the headquarters for Kyoto's Shinsengumi.

***

Notes :

1. 'Kondou-san' is Kondou Isami, Captain (Sou-chou) of the Shinsengumi (the whole of Shinsengumi, not just the troops captain).

2. 'roshis' are masterless samurai.

3. Okay, okay, in real history Okita Souji was most probably closer friends with the Captain and Vice-Captain of Shinsengumi, not Saitou Hajime who joined in later. But for the purpose of this fic, can we just imagine that they are good friends? I'm not feeling up to including Kondou Isami and Hijikata Toshizo in details, I'm already feeling overwhelmed as it is now. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then good, don't worry about it ^_^.


	4. Under the blood moon

Chapter 3 : Under the Blood Moon

**Chapter 3: Under the Blood Moon**

*Do-ryu-sen*!

Dirt and small stones exploded into the air, a deadly barrage that was, nonetheless, a mere feint for the true attack. As Kenshin had intended, his opponent brought both hands upward to shield his face, his weapon now uselessly high. He burst forward, streaking in through the screen of dirt, his katana slamming into the saya and flashing again, faster than ever, straight out. At the same time, he lowered his speeding form and twisted his body violently, turning the straight draw into a spiraling slash, cutting from the legs up. Shrieking wind spun dry leaves into a frenzy as the very air was sliced apart with the fury of the attack.

There was a sharp ripping sound as his blade caught the trailing edge of Okita's haori. Somehow, his opponent managed to fling himself aside, away from the curve of his blade. Landing on one hand, Okita Souji rolled himself further away and snapped his katana up ready to defend. Gritting his teeth, Kenshin forced himself to lunge forward. _*The best defense is offense.* He could not afford to give the other man the offensive, or risked a repeat of their last encounter._

Slash, step, thrust. Dodge, turn, slash.

He was distantly aware of his body struggling to meet the demands of his will, and slowly losing. His heartbeat pounded raggedly, a noise in the background that meant nothing. He saw only his opponent, Okita Souji, his entire being focused on this adversary and nothing else. He did not know how long it had been, time was meaningless in the adrenaline-drenched dream world they fought in. At the back of his mind, a part of him still remembered his mission, but right now, there was only the deadly dance of steel and muscles, the razor-edge where oblivion waited for the slightest slip on either side.

He barely blocked Okita Souji's next attack, his trembling hands faltering under the powerful overhand blow. A flash of instinct made him jump backward, his left hand reacting faster than thought to smash aside the blade-tip thrusting for his stomach, his katana swinging out to drive his opponent back. Okita Souji backed out of reach, then closed in again.

Parry, jump back, slash. Side-step, lunge, strike.

His prey was fast, experienced, and in better condition than he was. The reminder from their last encounter burned him with the sweat of his exertion. It was bleeding the strength out of him, slowing him down. Soon, Okita Souji would get through to him. And all the while, he was watching for the telltale sign of the move that had given him his wound. He remembered the speed of the pinpoints of light, turning into a slash that opened his side. Whether or not his abused body had enough left to carry him through...

A part of him did not care; the rest of him howled for his enemy's blood.

***

The Shinsengumi headquarters was brightly-lit, but much too quiet. The only signs of life came from the small guard's stand on the front gate of the big building. There were only ten of them, half of them prowling the inside of the building. The five outside were disgruntled at having their Third Troop left behind to guard an empty building. After giving enough time to ensure the Hitokiri Battousai would not know of their involvement before hand, the First Troop had slipped off to support their captain to kill or capture the Hitokiri Battousai.

To add insult to injury, their vice-captain had just led ten of their remaining number to handle a skirmish near the British Embassy. The report indicated it as possibly involving the Ishin Shishi rebels, which made it important enough to investigate. To assuage their disappointment, they were playing a rowdy game of dice. Gambling was illegal, but who was going to see and report them?

As it was, there _was one person who saw their gambling, but reporting to their superior was the last thing on the person's mind. The dark shape flowed into the shadows shed by the trees in the narrow strip of courtyard, and swiftly disappeared around a corner of the building. The five guards continued their game, blissfully unaware of the intruder._

***

"HYAAAAH ! !" Himura Battousai swung his katana in a vicious downward arc. Okita leapt backward and immediately swept a horizontal slash.Sparks flew as Battousai parried the blow and, using the momentum of the block turned his body in a half circle that placed him behind Okita. In the same motion, he swung his katana in powerful arc to the Captain's back.If it had connected solidly, Okita's body would have been cut in half.

But the Shinsengumi Captain had seen this move before. The moment he saw Battousai's body turning, he lunged forward as far as he could. Still, the end of the katana sliced into his lower back painfully and he staggered, grimacing with pain. But it served to crystallize his thoughts, and he turned the stagger into several quick steps to open the distance before whirling around. 

Battousai was racing for him, but this time Okita did not let him take the offensive. He lowered his body for better balance and centered himself. From the corner of one eye, he saw his broken saya lying nearby. Without thinking, he kicked one half towards his enemy. The Battousai's katana flashed as he almost contemptuously swept the projectile aside. But that instance of diversion was enough. Okita's sword was angled horizontally as he leaned forward then exploded into motion.

_One._

His right hand was a blur as he thrust straight for Battousai's throat. The other man's eyes had widened the moment he had leveled his katana, and that slight warning was the only thing saving him as he threw his body to the left and ducked. His katana angled up front to block but encountered air as Okita's next thrust sped towards the other man's right shoulder.

_Two._

The Battousai's balance was still off from his desperate dodge. Okita's sword nicked him on the shoulder but in that split-second he managed to turn his blade slightly to block the thrust, twisting and trying to side-step out of the way. Okita's eyes blazed with determination as he put all his speed behind the final thrust. His arm disappeared from view.

_Three._

Okita's katana plunged into Battousai's left shoulder. Before the other man could react, Okita turned the thrust into a powerful side slash, opening a long deep gash along the Battousai's shoulder and upper arm. Blood burst forth from the wound as his opponent's back hit a tree trunk marking the end of the clearing. The broken saya he had swept aside clattered unnoticed on the ground behind the combatants.

****Sankyoku Ittai Rouga Mekkyaku****

Okita saw the younger man ignore his heavily-bleeding wound and grip his katana two-handed, body tensing in preparation. _Left, right, or up? His answer came as Battousai launched himself into the air, blade angled vertically down to pierce his head. Okita side-stepped the attack with less than an inch to spare, the sharp wind from the blade's passing hurting his face. He barely noticed the close miss, the next attack was coming._

From his lower position, his opponent's katana swept outward to cut off his knees. As he met Battousai's coldly burning eyes, he gritted his teeth and leapt forward. He saw realization flickered in the other man's eyes, saw him starting to turn his body, but Okita didn't give him the chance. Shouting hoarsely, he smashed his knee as hard as he could against his opponent's right side. His injured side.

A choked cry escaped from Battousai as the force of the blow sent him rolling to the ground. But before he fell out of reach, a last desperate twist of his wrist turned his blade to continue in its arc. Cold steel bit deeply into Okita's left thigh. With a pained gasp, Okita swayed and almost fell.Looking down, he saw a large gaping wound just above the back of his knee, bleeding profusely. Cramping pain shot up his entire left leg, but thankfully the blade did not cut into tendons. A cold shudder went up his spine. Another inch lower and that leg would have been disabled for life.

The Battousai had not yet risen from the ground but Okita was not sure his injured leg would support an attack. Instead, he stood there gulping some much-needed breath.

Himura Battousai had been pressing his attacks like a demon possessed, and it was taking its toll on both of them. From here, he could see his opponent's chest rising and falling in ragged breathing. The sound of his own pounding heart was loud in his ears, drowning all other sounds. He was covered in sweat, and his muscles ached with strain and fatigue. Aside from his leg, the chest and back wounds also throbbed painfully and it all conspired to sap his strength.

But the thing that shook him the most was the dull constricting pain in his chest, how his lungs seemed to struggle harder to fill with air than they had been a year ago.

He dismissed the fear with a stern mental scolding. This was no time to divide his attention with such trivial worry, or he might get his head handed to him by the assassin in front of him.

But the Battousai was wounded too. The shoulder wound was deep and the cut he had given him four days ago must not had time to heal properly. The kick he gave him should have re-opened the wound. As he watched, his opponent slowly dragged himself from the ground. He noticed with grim satisfaction that he was hunched around his right side, his left hand pressed against the wound. The black cloth prevented him from seeing if the wound was bleeding, but the man was obviously in pain.

***

Kenshin's world was centered around the wound in his right side, the wound that filled his entire body and mind with searing pain. The left palm pressed against it was wet with blood, soaking into the dark fabric of his gi, and more was seeping out. He could barely move that arm, the wide slash wound across his shoulder and upper arm burning with agony. The effort to stand up almost wrenched a scream from him, but he bit into his lower lip hard to contain it. The wind felt cold against his fevered flesh. Lifting a red-tinted vision, he saw Okita Souji standing a few yards from him.

He seemed to be favoring his left leg, so he did injure him there. But he had felt the bite and knew it was not enough to cripple the captain. He cursed silently - if his aim had held true, Okita would be as good as dead. Injured or not, Hitokiri Battousai could still take out a half-crippled man. But now, he was the one in danger. From the way his wounds were bleeding, he did not know how much time he had left before he would collapse from blood loss. Hell, Okita Souji would kill him long before that.

Time to toss the dice. And pray that it all went according to plan. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he deliberately straightened up, ignoring the shrieking pain from his side. Keeping his left hand pressed there, he addressed his Shinsengumi rival with a voice that sounded reasonably normal. The captain would never know how much it cost him.

"I suppose this is the time when you call in your men."

The young captain raised his eyebrows in an innocent gesture. "Men?" he inquired mildly.

Kenshin fought a flutter of cold fear that rippled through his heart. More than his death, he feared that his mission would not succeed. _Shut up, he cursed himself. __He is lying._

He evenly said, "I mean those Shinsengumi First Troop that were hiding in the forest, waiting for your command to come out."

Okita Souji was silent for a while, gazing at him with an expressionless look so unfamiliar to his normally open face.

"How did you know?" he finally asked in his usual mild tone. "They are very well trained and you should have been too busy to notice their arrival."

Kenshin simply retorted, "Does it matter? Are you going to call them in or not?"

Souji silently scrutinized him again, before raising his left hand and made a sharp beckoning gesture. In an instant, the forest half surrounding the grass clearing came alive with twenty men clad in black garbs more reminiscent to ninja than Shinsengumi, all of them armed and ready.

***

The office that was located beside Okita Souji's room was bigger than the Captain's, with the same long windows facing the courtyard outside. Suddenly, the door swung open smoothly, without a sound. A dark shadow swiftly flowed in and shut the door just as quietly. A slight fiddling with the lock yield a soft click barely heard in the total silence. Only then did the shadow glide in towards the far wall, where a large stark calligraphy of the kanji 'Makoto' hung. The faint moonlight from the windows illuminated the figure, a slim tall form, androgynous in the night-black garb of an omnitsu. Gloved fingers ran along the edge of the simple wooden frame, looking for something. Suddenly they stopped.

For a moment, nothing happened, then the calligraphy smoothly swung away from the frame on its left side. Behind the canvas, a bulky steel safe was embedded into the wall. The omnitsu examined the metal tumbler set into the center of the safe carefully for a while, before pulling out wires and other esoteric equipment from his sleeves, and setting to work.

***

Watching the men stepped out of the woods, Kenshin dryly addressed Okita, "I thought I asked for a duel. If I wanted an audience, I would not have chosen such a remote location."

The members of Shinsengumi First Troop clutched their weapons tighter and eyed the former Ishin Shishi executioner warily, waiting for an order from their Captain to charge their enemy.

Okita smiled that same gentle smile and mildly answered Kenshin, "We are both samurai and we have our honors. But before that, I am Shinsengumi and you are Ishin Shishi. The responsibility to something greater than myself outweighs my own honor."

Resting the tip of his katana on the ground in front of him, he continued, "Should the situation be different, should neither of us owe our loyalty to such opposite forces, I would be honored to fight against such a skilled opponent in a duel. Even if I lose my life, I will have no regrets. " He smiled a bit sadly, "But, as it is ... Hitokiri Battousai is a powerful asset to the Ishin Shishi. And we who are in charge of preserving the safety of Kyoto must do whatever needs to be done to protect it. For whatever it is worth, I am sorry, Himura-san."

Kenshin regarded his opponent silently, the amber fire that had burned in his eyes during their entire fight losing some of its intensity. He quietly replied, "No need to apologize, Okita Souji. I understand perfectly."

Okita knotted his brow at that answer, his unease growing. The other man was much too calm. "Himura-san," he said softly, " I asked before and I will ask again.How did you know of my men's coming?" As his eyes met the Kenshin's now calm gaze, unafraid and far too composed to be a man possessed by revenge, his eyes suddenly widened. "_Masaka..._ " He breathed, staring at the other man, "you...?"

Kenshin continued to hold his incredulous gaze for an instant, then he suddenly whirled around and broke into a mad dash for the far side of the clearing. He could hear the shouts that erupted behind him, but he ignored them, concentrating only on the uneven path. The pain in his side burst to full-blown agony. His left hand spasmed around it in a death grip, the fingers starting to go numb. He could taste blood where he had bitten through his lip, but he ignored it all. There was only one thing his mind concentrated on: the cliff.

***

The lock combination clicked softly and the thick steel door swung open on well-oiled hinges. Underneath the mask, a smile of professional pride spread across tense lips. The omnitsu quickly riffled through the folders of documents stacked inside, occasionally stopping to leaf through a few pages. He stopped when he found a folder containing personnel files. With just the faint illumination from the moon outside, he began to flip through the pages. Finishing in remarkably short time, he shoved the folder back into the safe and was searching through the pile when the faintest of sound outside the door froze him to the spot.

With a loud crash, the door to the office was kicked open. Standing silhouetted in the doorway was the tall frame of Saitou Hajime, his naked blade gleaming in his right hand.

***

His breath was coming in ragged bursts, his whole world had long since narrowed down into two things, his destination and the pain. He could barely feel the warmth of the blood covering his nerveless fingers. The open wound on his side had drenched his entire right side, and each jolting step sent a wave of fiery agony all over him. His legs were beginning to falter. But that did not matter now, he could see his target._ Just a few more steps, climb the incline, just a few more steps... It became his litany, until he could hear the sound of water roaring meters below the cliff._

He instinctively stopped when he reached the jagged edge, the chasm yawning below him dark even to his keen eyesight. The moonlight could not reach into the narrow chasm and the river below was almost invisible, even though he could hear it.

Loud shouts and clanging weaponry signaled the arrival of the Shinsengumi. He staggered sideways to watch them as they stopped a few feet from him. Okita Souji was in the lead despite his wounded leg. White-faced and panting, he called out to him, "Give it up, Himura Battousai. There is no way out for you."

_No way out? The man that stood on the edge of the cliff peeled his left hand away from his wounded side to grip his saya. Okita's eyes widened at the sight of the red-washed hand. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, the young samurai gave a little flick to his katana to clean it and calmly sheathed it._

The rest of the troop relaxed marginally at that, but Souji tensed, half expecting the Battousai to drop into his Battou-jutsu stance. He barely opened his mouth to warn his men when Himura Battousai's expressionless face broke into a smile for the first time, his cold eyes flashing with a manic mirth. Without another word, he spun around and leapt into the dark abyss below.

***

"Well, well. Look who's come to play in the wolf's den," the Shinsengumi captain smirked. He dropped into a low crouch and his naked blade was lifted level with his eyes, pointing slightly downward - the Gatotsu stance. "Step away from that safe," he ordered coldly, the smugness replaced with chilling menace, like the shadow of death.

A hundred possibilities spun through the intruder's mind, but there was only one course left. Just as Saitou Hajime dashed towards him, his long legs eating the distance between them with inhuman speed, the intruder's left wrist made a small flicking motion. Three small, thumb-sized black balls shot from the wrist into the safe. Upon impact, they exploded into small fireballs with a loud bang. In the confined space of the safe, fierce tongues of flame consumed the papers inside immediately.

The omnitsu did not wait to see the hazard he had caused. As soon as the little projectiles left his hand, he grabbed a nearby chair, threw it in Saitou's path, and somersaulted backward. Saitou Hajime did not slow down. The force of his strike smashed the chair into pieces, the blade piercing through to stab into the intruder's chest.

Cloth ripped in one long shallow tear as the somersault motion deflected the tip down the body, the backward momentum further reducing the impact of the attack. Landing on both palms, the omnitsu propelled himself further back, booted feet crashing into the tall windows and leading the rest of the body out of the building. He fell the two-stories down and landed rolling. Without stopping, the lithe figure bounded up the trees in the courtyard and flitted above the tall perimeter fence. The guards running out of the duty station had no chance whatsoever of catching him.

Saitou Hajime stood in front of the broken window, his face expressionless. He examined the tip of his katana, which was dripping a few droplets of blood. Then he looked at the fire still burning merrily in the safe, consuming top-secret documents of the Shinsengumi. His fists tightened.

The men below jumped back in shock as the rest of the window frame crashed to the ground, narrowly missing them.

***

Okita Souji stood stunned at the edge of the cliff. His men had surged forward the moment Hitokiri Battousai had leapt off the edge of the cliff, apparently to his death. But no amount of peering could break through the darkness of the river canyon.

His vice-captain approached him hesitantly, "Gumi-chou, what do we do now?"

The question snapped Okita back to reality. And with that came the last conversation with his enemy. "We are going back," he snapped. "I'm sure that Hitokiri Battousai was only a diversion, to lure us away from headquarters. It may already be too late, but we have to go anyway."

The other man nodded with wide eyes. Gritting his teeth, Okita turned around and prepared himself for a painful journey home. 

***

The cold snapped him back to his rational mind. For a moment, water weighed him down all around, the strong current tumbling him. He completely lost his orientation and felt the first stirrings of panic. Just when he felt his lungs were about to burst, his flailing hand broke into air, and he pushed himself in that direction. When his head broke the surface, he gasped in sweet lungfuls of air, then sputtered as a wave slapped him on the face. He coughed out the water and concentrated on staying afloat.

The rocky sides of the narrow canyon swept past with frightening speed. By some miracle, his katana and wakizashi were still on his waist. He forced his stiff left hand to clutch at them, ignoring the voice that berated him for being a fool. He refused to lose his swords.

But he was not going to be able to stay afloat much longer either. The side wound that was forgotten in the sudden danger of drowning was starting to make its presence known again. The impact with the river surface and immersion in cold water was not helping. _Where is that blasted rope? It was supposed to be near a fallen tree trunk, fifty meters from here. If they messed up in informing him, I'm going to kill them.If I survive._

Just as he swallowed another mouthful of river water, he could make out the dim outline of a large shape leaning halfway across the river, a meter above the surface. _There!Mustering all the remaining strength in his body, he braced himself. As the current swept him below the tree trunk, he raised his free right hand into the air. Something thin slapped his arm hard just below the wrist. Grabbing at it desperately, he found his fingers wrapped around two thick twine ropes, strung horizontal across the river. Using the leverage, he pulled his head out of the churning water, but was too weak to do anything else._

"Hah, there you are!! I've been waiting for ages!" a cheerful bellow sounded above him and a pair of strong arms reached down to grab him by his arms and gi. He was pulled out of the water as if he weighed little more than a child and placed on the broad surface of the tree trunk. Lying on his back and gulping deep breaths, he found himself face-to-face with the widely-grinning face of his colleague.

"Kyosuke, " he coughed.

Kyosuke's grin grew even wider, if that was possible. "Maa, maa. You look like a drowned rat, Himura. " And with that the other man roared with laughter.

Kenshin winced at the volume and tried to get up - he did feel like a drowned rat -, when a savage pain blossomed from his side. With a weak cry, he fell back again, his left arm refusing to support him. He had lost all sensations from it.

Kyosuke stopped laughing and peered at him worriedly, "Oi, Himura, what's the matter? You hurt? Let me have a look." He started to pull at the soaked clothing.

"Don't..." Kenshin gasped at him before Kyosuke's hand accidentally pressed into his wound. The burst of agony that followed dimmed his sight and soon darkness enveloped him completely.

***

Notes :

BIG CREDIT ^__^

1. "Sankyoku Ittai Rouga Mekkyaku" = translates as "Three-in-one Annihilation of the Fang of the Wolf". Waiii! Serizawa Kamo-san, arigatou!! He was kind enough to explain the basic moves to me and let me borrow this name. Yep, this is HIS brain-child ^_^. And yes, it is based on Okita's true style ^^. The 'Sankyoku' consists of 3 strikes to the throat and both shoulders, all in one movement. The thrust can be turned into a horizontal slash, called 'hiratsuki' - a hallmark of Tennen Rishin Ryuu. In my version at least, Okita had the choice of when to turn the thrust into a slash, and when not to.

2. Okita Souji's style was the Tennen Rishin Style, the same as Kondou Isami and Hijikata Toshizou. And for those who notice the similarity to Saitou's Gatotsu - remember Saitou saying to Kenshin in their first duel, that his Gatotsu's horizontal slash was inspired from Hijikata's style, which is the same school as Okita's ^_^. One main difference between Okita's and Saitou's is that one relies more on speed, the other more on strength. (Of course, Saitou's true style was the left-hand single thrust, so...)

[On to Chapter 4 : New Sparks in the Tinder][1]

[mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk][2]

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/9810/Fanfic/DSBL4.html
   [2]: mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk



	5. New sparks in the tinder

Chapter 4 : New Sparks in the Tinder

**Chapter 4 - New Sparks in the Tinder**

_--- Osaka Harbor_

The sun was just rising above the sea horizon. The first crimson rays splashed on the night-dark waves, washing them with ruby brilliance. They glinted off the polished dark gray hull of the battle-ship. The massive steel monolith was an ominous brooding presence, moored far out at sea and away from the rest of the wooden Japanese ships. A thick cloud of fumes still trailed up from the funnel in the middle, the smoke turning the newly risen sun a darker shade of red. Two tall masts flanked the funnel, a British flag flapping in the stiff breeze on a line from the aft mast. 

A rowboat smoothly cleaved through the waves towards the battle-ship, six burly dock-workers pulling the oars in perfect rhythm. Three men sat on the prow, the two younger ones obviously acting as guard for the older man wearing the formal strapping of a government official. 

Once the boat was close enough, raised voices rang out from the once quiet ship. A shouted challenge in English was answered by the Japanese official. A little while later, a rope ladder was thrown down from the ship's side. The three men climbed up the ladder, the older official a bit awkwardly, to be greeted by two Westerners in full uniform of the British Navy. The one in front was a big, barrel-chested man in his fifties, with black hair and a thick mustache liberally sprinkled with gray. His uniform was immaculately neat and spotless for someone who must have been awake throughout the night.

"Welcome aboard, Mr. Yoshimura I presume?"

The older Japanese man bowed to him, his two followers following suit. The two British officers bowed back, albeit less smoothly. 

The British officer continued, "I'm Captain Sterling, Maximillian Sterling. This is my second in command, Jonathan Price." The younger man behind him inclined his head a bit stiffly. "The passengers will come to the deck soon. If you would, let us wait for them inside."

"Hajimemashite, Captain Sterling," the Japanese official greeted him back pleasantly. "My name is Yoshimura. Thank you for your hospitality, but it is alright for us to wait here." He lifted his eyes to sweep a look around the deck. "If it is not too much trouble though, may we be allowed to have a look around your excellent ship? I have to admit, this is the first time I have ever set foot on a British ship.I find myself very curious about it."

The younger second-in-command blinked, obviously a bit taken aback by the Japanese man's smoothly spoken English. The Captain did not miss a beat. "Of course," he murmured, "It's our pleasure. Mr. Price here will guide you around the ship. If you will excuse me, I will go down to supervise the passengers. Quicker will be best for us all, but civilians will dawdle if given the chance."

Yoshimurasmiled and nodded, "Of course, Captain."

Maximillian Sterling turned and gave Price a warning glance before walking towards the hatch leading inside. From behind, he could hear Price's voice asking the Japanese men to follow him. They would be given a tour of the deck and parts of the cannon rooms, but not the engines. Enough to subtly impress them with British's technological and weaponry superiority, but not revealing any sensitive technological knowledge. That would have to wait until later, if Japan truly becomes British's valued trading partner. 'If' being the operative word.

He walked down the cramped stairs towards the passenger cabins. Loud noises came from all around him as bleary-eyed civilians struggled to finalize their packing and disembark. He went to one room in particular, slightly secluded from the rest. His soft knockings were answered by a deep bass voice. "Come in."

Inside a British gentleman in his late forties rose from the small bed, smiling in greeting. He was a tall and powerfully-build man, tailor-made black suit and long overcoat accentuating his wide shoulders and chest. His hair was a dark ash-blond with side-burns streaked with white, a mustache and neatly-trimmed beard lining an angular jaw. Deep blue eyes assessed Maximillian Sterling's face, and he swept a hand towards the only chair in the cramped room. 

"Sit down, Max. Would you like some tea?"

Maximillian's face creased in a smile as he closed the door. "It amazes me how you can still enjoy tea at a time like this." His eyes found the packed suitcases lining the side of the cabin. "You are all set to go?"

"Isabelle's doing. She was restless the whole night; in the end I let her pack my things just so she could spend some of that pent-up energy and get some sleep. And let me go to sleep too, I might add." His eyes danced with merriment as he poured a cup of tea and offered it to Maximillian.

Maximillian chuckled as he accepted the cup, easily balancing it against the gentle sway of the ship. "We are all going to miss her. You know, she has become the darling of my men, and in such a short time too. I swear she has all of your charisma and more." He shook his head slightly, his voice turning serious, "You'll have to take good care of her, Lawrence. And Chris is still so young. Japan is not a very safe place, and from what we've heard, this city called Kyoto is one of the worst places to be in right now."

"I know. But she would not stay behind, and she and Chris would be all alone back in London. Considering the wealth of my inheritance, I could depend on the rest of my...'esteemed relatives' to plot against them. Besides, I've neglected them during my years in China, and since Evelyn died..." Lawrence quieted, sipping his own cup of tea.

"At least here I could keep my eyes on them both. They should be safe inside the embassy compound."

Maximillian nodded. "If you say so. Where are Isabelle and Chris anyway ?"

"Chris is in the restroom, Isabelle has gone to fetch him. She said they will meet with me on the deck."

"Alright." Maximillian looked at his old friend soberly. "I have told you the location of our mooring place. Remember, if you encounter anything you can't handle, we'll be here. What you are going to do...if even half of the information we had regarding the Japanese is true, you will have men lining up to kill you from both sides."

Lawrence nodded somberly, "I know. Which is why nobody except you and Sir Hawthorne will know about my full authority."

"Try to be more inconspicuous, will you?" Maximillian grinned at him. "Although that is probably a hard word for you to understand, Mister Rutherford, Sir."

Sir Lawrence Rutherford, ambassador from Her Majesty the Queen of England, British Minister to Japan, smiled at his friend and tipped his cup in wry acknowledgment. 

***

Outside in the corridor, in front of the common lavatory, a small altercation was going on.

"Chris! Come on, we're going to be late. What is taking you so long?" 

A Caucasian girl in a long formal dress stood at the end of the passenger corridor. Honey-blond hair framed a sweet oval face, the thick strands falling to her waist in soft waves. A pale creamy complexion set off eyes the color of deep sapphire. She would have been the perfect picture of demure maiden beauty if not for the aggressive fire that burned in her eyes and the stance she took - arms akimbo with one foot tapping an impatient rhythm in front of her. There was a parasol tucked on her sleeved elbow, but she looked more likely to use it to hit the door in front of her than to shield her skin from the sun.

She gave a small, very unlady-like growl and pounded on the door with one fist. "Christopher! Get out of there right now!"

A tiny muffled voice could be heard from the other side, "Just a minute, 'belle."

The door to the staircase beside her opened as two sailors peeked at her in bemusement. 

"'belle, what's wrong?" The taller one asked with a grin. 

The girl called Belle turned to look at the two men in exasperation. "Chris is taking up the restroom. I can't believe it, what could he be doing in there for fifteen minutes? Chris!"

The shorter sailor with brown hair offered cheekily, "You could use our restroom if you want 'belle, you're always welcome in our quarters."

Isabelle sniffed at the widely-grinning two-some, though her eyes were sparkling with humor. "Your quarters stink. You men are all the same, you can't clean and wash properly even if your life depended on it. Going there once is enough for me."

"Hey!" The man protested, feigning a hurt expression. "That's not fair. We don't get to wash up as often as you first-class passengers do. 'sides, you don't wash your own clothes either, Missy."

Isabelle's right hand tightened on the handle of her parasol. "Pardon me, but may I ask what you are trying to say?" she asked sweetly. 

The taller sailor was grinning openly as he inched his way back out. The other man blithely continued, "Well, Missus Morgen washed, ironed and folded your clothes. She said that if you do it yourself you'll probably end up ripping the seams... YOUCH!!" 

Isabelle triumphantly retracted her parasol from where it had come down solidly on the shorter sailor's instep. "Missus Morgen said that, did she?" she continued with the same sweet smile firmly in place. "Well, you might not want to believe everything Missus Morgen says. Missus Morgen only knew me for a few months, and Missus Morgen does *not* know everything there is to know about me."

The shorter sailor was awkwardly bouncing on one leg trying to rub his sore foot, all the while shooting a death glare towards his chortling friend. "Well, alright, if you say so," he muttered, "I'll see you on the deck later, Missy." He limped past his friend. The other man grinned widely at Isabelle, "'belle, one free word of advice. If you go on acting like this, you'll scare off your future husband." He wisely slammed the door shut right before Isabelle's parasol hit the wood where his head used to be. 

Isabelle glared at the door, hands firmly clutching her parasol. "Well," she muttered defiantly, "what if I don't care?"

The door beside her finally creaked open and a small, rather frail-looking Caucasian boy about five-six years in age stepped out somewhat timidly. Isabelle frowned down at him and immediately turned her full attention on the boy.

"What took you so... hey, you're all dressed up already?"

The boy had the same golden-blonde hair as Isabelle, with an even paler complexion that accentuated the flush on his cheeks. The delicate features on the small face were similar enough to the girl's to proclaim them as brother and sister. The white suit he wore hung somewhat loosely on his thin frame, though that did not prevent him from fidgeting a bit in its constraint. Big, sky-blue eyes looked up at Isabelle with guilt and embarrassment. 

"I... I dressed up myself. 'belle, you said I needed to wear this so I did."

Isabelle dropped down to her knees and scrutinized the boy, turning him once around.Her eyebrows rose as she noticed that everything was neatly in place. "Hey, this is good...you said you did it yourself?"

"Uh-hmm. Did I do it right?"

Isabelle smiled widely at the boy's earnest expression, "Yes, you did, Chris. You did great. I can't believe you dressed up all by yourself."

Chris broke into a brilliant smile. "I told you I wouldn't be a burden to you and Father, didn't I? I can take care of myself, you don't have to worry about me."

"Oh, Chris..." Isabelle breathed, "Is that why...? It's alright, Chris. I'll always be here with you, and so will Father."

"Promise?" Wide eyes pleaded with Isabelle, the fear and loneliness in them making her heart hurt, "You and Father won't ever leave me behind?"

Isabelle forced a cheerful smile on her face. "Of course we won't. What a silly thing to say! Now come, or we will be holding all the others back." 

***

The once empty deck was now occupied with milling passengers, suitcases scattered everywhere waiting to trip the unwary. Shouts rang in the air as sailors labored to prepare the ship's two row-boats. 

A small group was standing near the prow - Yoshimurawith his men, Captain Sterling, Lawrence Rutherford, and a portly British gentleman in his late fifties. The latter was talking quietly to Yoshimura . 

"There are fifteen of us in total, five merchants and the rest are embassy staff with families. May I ask about the travel arrangements to Kyoto's embassy place?"

Yoshimura replied politely, "We have made the arrangements, Delacourt-san. Three carriages are waiting at the harbor to carry your embassy staff and your families to Kyoto. We should arrive there in the early afternoon. The carriages will be well guarded of course."

"Much appreciated, Mister Yoshimura. May I ask," Delacourt leaned forward, casually asking the question that Rutherford had asked him to, "I've heard a few rumors about these... Ishin Shishi, is it ? I'm wondering how much of it is justified...."

Yoshimura started and looked up at the elderly man, "Hai." He paused a bit, "I'm sure whatever you've heard was exaggerated, rumors have the tendency to do that. It is only a small group...unsatisfied with their lot, nothing major. We have the situation under control. We keep your head of embassy, Hawthorne-san, well informed on the situation. I am sure he can answer your questions better." 

His reply was too deliberately vague and general, yet his very reticence gave up some information. Rutherford smiled easily with Delacourt as the other man murmured quiet affirmations. _Not very forthcoming. I wonder just how much information they allow Sir Hawthorne to know, and how much they concealed. _

He let Delacourt lead the talk with the Japanese, as they had arranged previously. The older man was listed as the leader of their little group of additional embassy staff for the Kyoto branch, and he would be the one liaising directly with their Japanese contact. He did not know Rutherford's background or his exact authority, none of them did, except that he had the written order from the Minister of Foreign Affairs to follow this man's orders. Rutherford would keep himself in the background, until the time came when he would need to exercise his authority. During his discussion with the Ministers back in London, they had agreed that it was safest for him this way. 

Maximillian was talking to Yoshimura, "I will need a guide to bring my ship to that secluded harbor you mentioned. The engine has been kept warm, once my rowboats return I can leave immediately. I assume it's best for all concerned if I leave as quickly as possible?" 

A British battle-ship moored in Osaka would not be a very reassuring thing to the Japanese government, and definitely not to the citizens living there. It was barely a year ago since the disastrous Battle of Shimonoseki between Choshu-han and western allied fleet, where battle-ships had bombarded the fords at Shimonoseki into ruins. And the year before that, the Battle of Kagoshima between Satsuma-han and the English fleet. They did not need a personification of westerners' superior fire-power sitting within touching distance in front of their homes. 

Yoshimura nodded towards Maximillian, "Yes, that would be best. One of the sailors in my boat was a local fisherman, he will show you the way to the other harbor. I believed it was about four hours away from here, faster perhaps with your ship. I have arranged for fresh food and supplies to be made available to you, as well as any other... needs... your men might have." 

Maximillian nodded back, "Thank you. I appreciate the thorough accommodations."

"Father!"

Lawrence turned around to see Isabelle and Chris walking towards him.

"Ah, you are ready? I was about to go down and look for you two. I wouldn't want to leave you behind on the ship, Chris." Lawrence smiled down at his son.

Chris' small face scrunched up slightly in distress, but Isabelle quickly intervened, "Stop teasing him, father. You can't leave Chris without leaving me behind too, and you know you can't do that."

"Oh?" Lawrence's eyebrow raised up as he smiled widely at his daughter, "And why is that, hmm?"

Isabelle moved closer to Maximillian and wound her arms through the old Captain's hand, "Because uncle Max will order his men to drag you back onboard and take us with you, right uncle Max?" She gave Maximillian the most winsome smile in her repertoire. 

Maximillian laughed out loud, patting Isabelle's hand, "Stop that, you little minx. I'm too old to fall for your tricks. You can try that on Jonathan though, I'm sure he'll be very receptive."

Isabelle's cheeks reddened slightly, "Why pull Jonathan into this?"

Maximillian grinned down at her, "Why, I thought you already knew that he could not say no to anything you say. A pity your father already had someone in mind for you..."

"Uncle Max!" Isabelle exclaimed, embarrassment mixing with more than a little aggravation. Lawrence and Delacourt were chuckling, Yoshimurasmiled politely. 

Maximillian's gray eyes were dancing with mirth as he continued to tease the young woman, "What's the matter, 'belle, Jonathan not the type that you like? Or is it that you prefer them younger?"

Isabelle pulled her hands from Maximillian's hold, stamping her feet in utter frustration, "I refuse to talk to you when you're in one of these... these moods! And why do you always talk about men with me? I'm not interested."

Maximillian's bushy eyebrows made a climb for his hairline, "Not interested? Not interested she says, Rutherford!" He glanced over at Lawrence who gave a small helpless shrug. "I thought girls your age think about men a lot, young lady."

Chris spoke up for the first time, his tone solemn, "A lot of men want to talk to 'belle, but she wouldn't listen to them. She said they're boring."

Isabelle stared at Chris open-mouthed, not expecting this little betrayal from her brother. "Chris, I did not say that!"

Chris looked up at her with wide eyes, "I heard you talking in your room."

"You eavesdropped on me??"

"No, I could hear you from the hall. You just talk loud, 'belle."

Before Isabelle could give a fitting reply to that, one sailor rushed towards Maximillian, "The boats are ready, Sir. The passengers can start boarding them."

"Well," Maximillian turned towards them all, "I suppose it's time to depart then. I wish you all a good journey, and good luck." His eyes caught Lawrence's before he turned to shake hands with the Japanese men. 

Isabelle hesitated for a while, then she stood up on tip-toes and swiftly kissed Maximillian on one grizzled cheek. "Good-bye, uncle Max," she murmured softly, an uncomfortable tightness in her throat.

"Hey," Maximillian's eyes were kind, "We'll see each other again, Isabelle. Take care, and take good care of Chris." He bent down to ruffle the boy's fine hair.

"I will."

She took Chris' hand and approached one of the rowboats. It hung from the side of the frigate by ropes and pulleys, waiting to be filled with passengers before it would be lowered to the sea. Jonathan Price was standing beside the boat, helping the women board. Isabelle gave him what she hoped was a simple friendly smile, "Good-bye Jonathan, and good luck."

Jonathan looked as if he wanted to say something, but he simply nodded somberly and replied softly, "Good-bye, Isabelle."

He helped Chris and her to board the slightly shifting boat. At the last moment, his hand tightened on hers as he looked at her. "Be safe," he murmured earnestly. Isabelle nodded, touched despite herself. As the boat began to lower, Isabelle craned up her neck to search the faces of the sailors above. She had gotten to know most of them well in the months-long journey from London to Osaka, and she knew that she was going to miss them.

As the rowers began to pull the boat from the battle-ship, the sailors above bunched together and, on some hidden cue, suddenly yelled down together at the boat below, "GOOD-BYE, MISS BELLE! GOOD JOURNEY!!"

Isabelle nearly jumped out of her seat, then she laughed out loud at their parting gift for her, her laughter full with simple delight. Ignoring the slightly disapproving looks from the other women, she waved back vigorously at them.

"Thank you!" she shouted. "Good-bye, all of you!"

She sat back on her seat, smiling a bit bashfully at her father's amused expression. As she settled against the rocking motion of the boat, she gazed at the harbor and the town sprawled beyond it. The brightening rays of the newly-risen sun looked as if they were bringing the town out of slumber. _Osaka. And after that - Kyoto. Isabelle's smile widenedwith eager expectations._

_This is going to be an unforgettable journey. I just know it. _

***

_--- Kyoto, Shinsengumi Headquarter_

The sun was shining as brightly as yesterday, but Okita Souji's state of mind was completely different. He wearily wiped a palm over his face as he surveyed the soot-blackened safe in the main office, then the big gaping hole where the window once stood. His fellow Shinsengumi Saitou Hajime leaned against the wall beside him, arms across his chest, quietly awaiting his reaction. 

The captain of the First Troop had just arrived from a long and exhausting trek back from the site of his duel - dirty, tired, and in pain. He had refused to see a physician, opting to return to the Shinsengumi headquarter first to see the situation.Where he found this mess. 

Glass and wood pieces crunched under him as he walked up to the safe and bent down to peer inside. The fire had been intense; a few fragments of paper remained, not much. 

Saitou quietly said, "I sent words to Susumu-san immediately after the intruder escaped, I warned him about what could happen. Kondou-san and Hijikata-san too. They should be here soon."

Okita sighed, surreptitiously rubbing his chest with one hand. "No matter how fast Susumu-san warn them, some of our people will still turn up as corpses in the next few days. The Ishin Shishi have gone to all this trouble, they must had a solid plan to follow through."

"So," Saitou said softly, "you think the intruder came for our list of informers?" 

"That's the most logical conclusion. These last two years, they've been hard hit by information leak about their plans, safe-houses. It's quite inevitable that they would try to counter-attack. I did not expect them to do something like this though. It just felt too... desperate, too risky. Although now that it worked, there is really nothing I can say." Okita sighed again heavily.

"Do you know what else were in the safe? I got a glimpse of the inside just before it was burned to a crisp. It looked far fuller than it usually is."

Okita frowned, "I'm not entirely sure, but lately Kondou-san kept coming back from meetings with seifu officials with some documents. I don't know what they contained, but I do know he planned to burn them once he's finished with them. Except that I'm sure he at least still kept yesterday's ones, and he usually left them in the safe."

Saitou hmmphed, then dryly remarked, "Well, they're certainly burnt now."

Okita managed a wan smile. "Yes. But I think the important question is how did he know those extra documents were there? It's only lately that Kondou-san stored things other than Shinsengumi documents inside the safe. It could be a coincidence, but I don't think you believe in coincidences any more than I do."

"An informer. In our midst." Saitou looked like he had swallowed something rotten. Neither of them missed the irony of the situation. Now it would be the Shinsengumi who would spend sleepless nights wondering about the source of the leak. 

"And another important thing. This safe is very solid and it's Western-made. I don't see any traces of forced entry, the locking mechanism looks quite whole. So whoever did this either had the entry combination, which only Kondou-san and Hijikata-san knows,or he knows how to break into a Western-made safe. I don't think there are many in Japan who are qualified for that. " Okita turned to Saitou, "What was the intruder like, can you tell me?"

"The man was trained in ninjutsu," Saitou offered evenly. "Good stealth, although the idiots here were not making it very difficult for him." The few Shinsengumi in the room flinched slightly at the Captain's scathing tone, but Saitou ignored them. "Quite skilled too, he nearly avoided my Gatotsu. " 

"Nearly?" 

Saitou shrugged, "I wounded him in the stomach, but it was not lethal. He back-flipped right through the window."

Okita crunched his way to the hole on the wall and looked down. "Hmm, the ground is quite far down. Not bad. Did you recognize his style?"

"We were only engaged in a short while, but the way he evaded me reminded me of someone."

Okita turned towards him. "Oh?"

Saitou's intense gaze met Okita's. "Makimachi Hayato."

The other man's eyes widened with incredulity. "But...that's impossible."

"I'm not saying that the intruder last night was the Okashira of Oniwabanshu, but I've seen Makimachi Hayato in action before, and I'm not mistaken. At least, the intruder must have some relationship with him."

"And, if as you say the intruder knows how to break into Western safe - well, there are all those rumors that some Oniwabanshu had gotten all the way to America and France. It's not inconceivable that they managed to learn some western skills there."

Okita bleakly considered the ramifications of accusing the head of the Oniwabanshu of conspiracy with Ishin Shishi. He winced. It was going to get ugly. 

Saitou was scrutinizing Okita, noting the way the younger man was limping. "That leg wound looks pretty nasty. You better have it looked after." He motioned an anxious old man into the room, the Shinsengumi's resident physician. Okita remembered telling him to wait for him at his room. He looked at Saitou, who gave an infinitesimal shrug of his shoulders. 

Okita smiled, genuinely this time. "Arigatou, Saitou-san."

Saitou waved a dismissive hand. "Tell me - is he that good? Hitokiri Battousai."

Okita carefully lowered himself to a sitting pallet, "Yes. He is that good. He wasn't in his best form last night though. I wounded him quite badly, but he escaped us by jumping off a cliff."

"Did you get his body?"

Okita shook his head, "No." He stoically endured the physician's ministration. The temporary cloth bandage around it was encrusted with dried blood. It peeled off painfully to reveal a nasty long gash across the width of his leg, above his knee. From previous experience, Okita knew it would be a few weeks before he would recover full use of that leg. At least the other wounds were not so severe, but he might be forced to take some time off.

When he looked up again, Saitou was looking down at him with a small tight smile on his lips. It gave his sharp face a slightly predatory, hungry look. "We'll see him again then."

"Probably not for a few weeks, but yes. No doubt." Okita tilted his head towards Saitou, considering Saitou's face. 

"I know that look. You're marking him?"

Saitou's smile widened into a not-quite-smirk. "Him and that person last night. I had a score to settle with them."

"Shinsengumi hunt together, Saitou-san." 

There was an undecipherable expression on Saitou's face as he looked back at Okita. 

"Aa."

***

Three wooden, horse-drawn carriages made their way down a crowded street of Kyoto, more than a dozen officers on horse-back accompanying it and clearing the road for the carriages to go through. The windows were tightly shuttered, heavy cloth drawn over them not allowing even a glimpse of the occupants' shadows. The afternoon crowd cleared the way quickly for them, the forbidding look on the guards' faces more than enough incentive. Idle speculations were whispered around, but if the crowd had known who were truly in the carriages, the peaceful afternoon would probably erupt into bloody violence, such was the mood against gaijins.

Isabelle sat inside one rather crowded carriage, Chris cradled against her and soundly sleeping. She absently patted her little brother's back, staring at the thick window curtain and straining her ears to hear any sound from outside. The noise level had increased considerably, they must had entered their destination then. 

_Kyoto. _

She mulled the word in her mind, as she often had for the past few months. The unfamiliar name had come to represent what Japan was to her. Exotic, strange, exciting. And dangerous; 'uncivilized' as Missus Morgen had called it. Everybody had stressed to her the danger of being here. Her father himself had adamantly refused to bring her and Chris, until she met his stubbornness with her own. Their arguments had been long and fierce, resulting finally in a challenge - Isabelle and Chris could only come if she could prove her worth as embassy staff by learning the Japanese language. 

There were only five months remaining before the ship would set sail. Isabelle knew her father had expected her to fail, but she had locked herself in the house for four months with her tutor, a little Japanese man who came back from China with her father. When the time came, she had surprised everyone with a fluently-spoken Japanese and a modest vocabulary of words. Even with her gift for languages, it was hard, but she was determined. She would not be left behind again, and neither would Chris. Not after what had happened the last time Lawrence left for China.

_And of course, it will be nice to see him again. Isabelle found herself smiling at that. When she had first insisted on coming, she had not known that an old acquaintance would be in Japan. __It has been years, I wonder if he's changed? Men don't change that much after their twenties, but I wonder if he'll recognize me? She had to stifle a giggle at that. Probably not, she had been a mere twelve-year-old back then. She was looking forward to surprising him._

But she had to reach the embassy ground first. She stopped herself from fidgeting in impatience, afraid of waking Chris. The carriage trip had been unbelievably boring and monotonous. After that first tantalizing view of Osaka, they had been ushered into their carriages as fast as their hosts could put them. They were given explicit warning not to open the window and show themselves. With nothing to do, the other four women in the carriage had fallen asleep during the dull ride through the countryside. She had been too edgy to sleep though. It was a good thing they were going to reach their destination soon. She fervently hoped that she would not have to go through this every time she wanted to go somewhere. 

Isabelle was shaken from her thought as the carriage suddenly grounded to a halt. There were raised voices from outside and a few cracks of whips. She tried to make sense of the words, but the thick curtain muffled them too well. _What's happening? She waited some more. The carriage did not move. She tapped her fingers in frustration, then finally gave up. Biting her lower lip slightly, she very slowly lifted one corner of the curtain. _

Her slight movement stirred up Chris who woke up rubbing his eyes with one hand. He curiously peeked up at Isabelle. "'belle? What are you doing?"

Isabelle waved one hand at him frantically, "Shush!" She carefully slid the wooden window frame forward, wincing slightly when it caught at something, then peeked through theslight gap.

There was quite a gathering near a small non-descript building beside the road. The crowd spilled over to the rather narrow road, blocking the way and forcing their carriage to stop. For a moment, she was distracted by the strange clothing of the men and women, their odd appearance. She had seen Japanese people before of course, but seeing so many of them crowding the street with not one Caucasian face among them hammered down how far from home she was. 

And she finally had her first glimpse of Kyoto. The first thing that struck her was how much more wood was being used instead of stones, unlike London. _Wouldn't fire be very dangerous then? Glass seemed to be non-existent, replaced with what looked like paper, like the windows in her carriage. The city __felt different to any other places she'd ever been to. Strange, enthralling, and a little frightening at the same time._

Some of their guards were talking to a few men in blue-and-white jacket, standing apart from the rest of the civilians. She assumed they were the police or some kind of security force, they had that hard authoritative look. The expression on their faces were dark, and one of them spat on the dirt, saying something harshly. Civilians nearby shied away from them, eyeing the men nervously. All of their attention were drawn towards the inside of the building, but she could not see what they were looking at. A rather tall Japanese man wearing a straw-hat was standing right in the way, blocking her view.

"Move...," she muttered in a low tone towards the man's broad back. "Come on, can't you just move a little bit to the side? Just a little, that's all I ask... ah!"

Almost as if he had heard her, the man blocking her view shifted to the side, letting her see past to the open door of the building. The shifting of the crowd in front finally gave her a glimpse of the inside. For a few seconds, she just stared uncomprehendingly at the tableau.

There was a man lying halfway outside the entrance, his waist resting across the raisedwooden doorframe She could not tell if he was young or old, could not even see what he looked like, because his face was all red. He looked as if a bucket of red paint was splashed all over him, staining his face, his clothes, and the dusty ground beneath him. A long sword was driven through his throat, pinning his neck to the dirt. She could see a few vague figures inside the dark interior of the house, but she could not make out anything except that they were all too still.

Bile rose to her mouth as her brain finally registered what she was seeing. Pressing a palm hard to her mouth, she yanked the curtain back down. She was vaguely aware of Chris's small voice asking her if she was alright, but she was too busy trying to keep from heaving. The inside of the carriage felt far too stifling. Suddenly the sharp crack of whip sounded outside and their carriage lurched back into motion. Isabelle leaned back against the seat, feeling the sickening pressure in her stomach and the rapid beat of her heart. _Those men... were they...?_

_ _

_What kind of person could do such a thing? _

Outside, the man who had blocked Isabelle's view stood gazing at the departing carriage,piercing eyes thoughtful under the rim of his low-drawn straw hat. For a moment there, he thought he had heard a female voice, speaking in another language. _Gaijins? His mouth quirked up in an amused smirk. He glanced back at the crowd goggling at the gory sight, the Shinsengumi fuming impotently. __Fools, just a bunch of ignorant sheep. With a final contemptuous sneer, Shishio Makoto left his fourth present for the Shinsengumi, casually walking off to blend in with the passers-by._

***

He burned in the darkness. How long has it been? No way to tell. Here, time was dictated by laboring beats of his heart, stretched into pieces of eternity by agony that pounced from the dark - again and again.The heat smothered his body, swallowed him, until he was drowning in it. He remembered drowning, his lungs heavy and thick with water. Except this water seared him inside out, and it tasted of blood. 

Whose was it this time, this blood that he's tasting? He tried to see, but there was only blackness. He groped forward blindly, and the blackness flowed around his hands, resisting his efforts to part it. He cried out blindly. He was so tired of being in the dark, where was the way out ? 

_I can't see..._

_...help me..._

Something smooth and cool flowed over his fevered skin, taking away some of the heat. Breathing became easier, some of the crushing weight lifted off his chest. He shuddered in relief. Cool, bitter water trickled into his mouth, a half-heard voice coaxing soothingly. A voice he trusted. He gave in, no longer fighting, and sank deeper into the velvet darkness -

And into a familiar formless world, one that he visited so often. A memory of blossom, a delicate fragrance that caressed his face light as feather, gently enveloping him. And he felt peace for a while. He clung to the precious emotion, knowing that it would not last. 

Even as he thought of it, the subtle fragrance began to change. A stronger smell bled into it,from outside and inside of him. So easily overpowered, the fragrance became more cloying, sweeter and sharper. Metallic with the faintest of flowers. 

He breathed deeply anyway, because he had done so then. Because these dreams, for he recognized this for what it was, have their own set path to follow, rituals to be honored. And he had performed these rituals night after night. It was the price he paid for being alive, the price for destroying life after life, even when he knew what each of them meant. 

The faces of the dead were here, with only a passing thought to summon them into forms. They lingered in his mind as ghosts, their eyes forever watching, endlessly judging. Their voices filled the void with a restless murmur that repeated, over and over again. 

_Why?_

And always, his conviction crumbled to dust under the weight of their death. Guilt and doubts crushed him under its weight of despair, and only one thought remained that made him go on.

_All of it should not be for nothing. She would not die for nothing. _

To give up now would be cowardice. It would negate everything he had done, waste all the lives that he had cut short. He could not accept that. He refused to accept that. If there was no justice, no higher meaning in this world, then he would create meaning himself. He would wield his sword and carve reason and justice out of chaos. It was a promise he had sworn to the souls of the dead - he would see this through to the end. He owed them that much and more.

And when all the killings were done, when all the blood were dried, there would be a new world where children could grow up without need for a sword. For that dream, for as long as it would take, he would be a monster. As long as he hurt, the monster would not have devoured his soul completely. But the day he felt nothing, Himura Kenshin would have died and only the monster would remain. 

And then...

There was only one way for a Shura path to end. 

***

Notes : 

1. Battle of Shimonoseki = 5-7 September 1864; For various reasons, Choshu's bad relationship with the gaijins finally escalated further, the Choshu fords at Shimonosekibombarded western ships and closed off the Shimonoseki strait against foreigner ships. UK, FR, US, Holland combined their navy to bomb those Shimonoseki fords and win back the right to traverse the strait. The westerners won hands-down. ^^;; P.S. : Shimonoseki is both name of the town and the strait. If you have a map, it's the strait between the main island of Japan and Kyushu island (the northernmost island). 

2. Battle of Kagoshima = 15 August 1863; Kagoshima was the capital city of Satsuma-han, on Kyushu beside the sea. English fleet attacked it for retaliation against the murder of Englishman Richardson by a Satsuma samurai. You're asking why the history lesson? Well, there's going to be more importance to them later on ;p

3. And no, I didn't made up the rumors about Oniwabanshu going all the way to US and FR ^_^;. Although who knows whether they're really true or not...

4. 'seifu' = government; refers to Bakufu / the Shogunate

5. 'Shura' = devil / demon

6. Names : 'Susumu-san' is Yamazaki Susumu, the head of Shinsengumi's spies and information network; 'Kondou-san' and 'Hijikata-san' is of course Kondou Isami and Hijikata Toshizo, Captain and Vice-captain of Shinsengumi. 

7. Sir Lawrence Rutherford was based loosely on Sir Harry Parkes, who was the first official British Minister to Japan, serving from 1865-1883. I said *loosely* ^_^;;. I didn't dare use his name here since I'll be taking a lot of liberties for the sake of the story, so I created the fictional character instead.

8. Err, nautical terms... I feel like the blind leading a blind ^_^; I'm not that familiar with ships, but since Miss told me some info. may be helpful... 'mast' is the tall poles that support the sails, 'funnel' is the steam-tube, 'aft' is the back of a ship, 'prow' is the front of a ship.

[On to Chapter 5 : Alliances][1]

[mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk][2]

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/9810/Fanfic/DSBL5.html
   [2]: mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk



	6. Alliances

Chapter 5 : Alliance

Chapter 5 - Alliances

The British Consulate had definitely seen better days. 

The solid timber wall surrounding the embassy compound was soot-blackened in numerous places, some of the damage obviously new. The acrid tang of fire and charred wood still lingered in the air. There were spots on the ground where long wet smears looked as if heavy things had been dragged through the dirt. Things like bodies.

It was all distressingly familiar to Lawrence Rutherford. 

As their carriages rattled through wrought-iron gates of the compound, past the rough barricade erected behind it and the heavy complement of armed guards, Lawrence was uncomfortably reminded of Shanghai during the worst of the anti-foreigner strikes.

He sighed. _And it's only the first day. _

As he stepped out of the carriage, Lawrence swept a look around the compound. The wide open courtyard was littered with burnt-out torches and broken pieces of debris, but the main building itself looked untouched, thankfully. The two side wings that extended to the back of the compound also looked fine. It would seem that whatever it was that had happened did not get past the gates. He turned to meet a guard who was hurrying towards their little group.

"What happened here?"

The young man had dark streaks across his face and his uniform was rumpled. Bags under his eyes attested to a long night without sleep. 

"A riot, sir. Hooligans burning everything and beating up people, damn them...sorry, sir," he apologized lamely.

"That's alright. Your name is...?"

The guard saluted a bit awkwardly, "First Lieutenant Brighton. We've been expecting you, sir, Sir Hawthorne is in his office inside. They are about to leave to meet our Japanese liaison, someone called Matsudaira. I suppose he is going to complain, 'though I'm not sure how much that will help." The guard shook his head morosely. "It's been getting worse lately. Major Jamieson is taking some men on a round to secure the perimeter, he should be back soon."

"Lieutenant Brighton, how often does this sort of thing happen?"

Brighton gave a bitter bark of laughter, "Very often, sir. We're not allowed outside the embassy ground since there've been so many assaults on our men. Though to be fair, it's not just us, it's all foreigners. The Japanese said they don't want another 'Richardson' affair, though I don't see walling us up inside as a very good solution."

At that moment, there was another commotion near the gate. A group of British soldiers were coming in, riding on horses. A tall black-haired man in the lead swung down from his horse and strode towards them, his long legs quickly covering ground. He had tanned skin with sharply defined cheekbones, his classically handsome face drawn in a troubled frown.

Brighton turned around swiftly and saluted. "Major Jamieson, the embassy staff has just arrived." 

The newcomer nodded. "At ease, Lieutenant. I'll take them to see Sir Hawthorne." He turned towards Lawrence with a small smile that was mirrored in his deep green eyes. "Sir Rutherford, it is a pleasure to meet you again. Although I wish the circumstances could've been more pleasant."

Lawrence's smile for the younger man was genuine. "It's alright, Arthur. It's good to see you, too. I see congratulations are in order, eh? They've finally gotten their act together and promoted you to Major."

Jamieson's smile widened slightly. "I honestly don't think that I have the years for the rank, sir. But Major Nash was transferred to Kagoshima three months ago. I suppose they just had to promote someone to take over things."

"Nonsense," Lawrence laughed, "years do count, but skills and results count for more. Sergeant at twenty-five and now Major at thirty-one. And accomplished all by yourself." Lawrence smiled fondly at him. "I was right all those years ago."

Jamieson lowered his head. "I know you told me not to say it anymore, but still...thank you for sponsoring me. The military wouldn't have accepted me otherwise."

Lawrence waved a dismissive hand, "And it would've been their loss. But we'll have a lot of time later to reminisce. Tell me, what's going on here?" 

The Major's face turned serious, his eyes darkening. "There was a riot on the street last night. At first it looked as if it was just going to be another one of those rowdy disturbances, quite common these days. But we had some warnings that they might try to attack the embassy, so we prepared ourselves. This was not the first time we've been attacked." 

He shook his head. "Around midnight, about thirty to forty men gathered here and started throwing things and burning torches. Three of my men were hurt when they charged the gate and we were forced to shoot some of them. But after that they gave up and went away, although they torched some of the surrounding buildings." 

Lawrence sucked in a deep breath. "I didn't think the situation in Kyoto was this bad."

"I'm very sorry, I know that the last dispatch to London said that it was alright here, but if I may," Jamieson continued in a lower voice, "that's understating it, sir. True, no one has been killed since Mister Richardson, two years ago, but the whole city is reeking of contained violence, and it has been getting worse over the last two months."

"This is already the third attack in almost as many months. The last time, they burned our warehouses near the river, we lost a fair number of our goods." Jamieson's mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "The merchants screamed long and hard about that. Sir Hawthorne had to work hard to pacify them." 

"Jamie!"

Jamieson blinked and turned towards the carriages, where the call had come from. The women had all gotten out of the last carriage and Isabelle was walking towards them with a bright smile on her face. 

Lawrence hid a knowing smile for the upcoming scene.

Isabelle stopped in front of the Major, face tilted up to look at the tall man. She regarded him with a smile that was slowly turning mischievous. Jamieson blinked down at the young girl in some confusion. 

"Miss...?"

Then with no warning at all, Isabelle threw her hands around Jamieson's chest in a big and decidedly improper hug. 

"Jamie, you big lout! You've forgotten all about me, haven't you?" 

Jamieson's expression was priceless as he stared down at the girl that was hugging him, speechless. 

"You...? Wait, what did you call me...?"

Isabelle leaned back without releasing her hug, blue eyes dancing with mischief. "How many people call you Jamie, anyway? And who's the first to ever call you by that nick-name, you heartless man?"

The young major's expression was undergoing some decidedly interesting contortions, Lawrence observed with amusement, although it was laced with some worry. He had no objections whatsoever on Isabelle renewing her acquaintance with Jamieson, but if it went further than that...

Jamieson's eyes had widened, making him look younger than his thirty-one years. He was catching on. "You mean... 'belle? You're little Isabelle??"

Isabelle snapped a finger in front of his eyes, giggling slightly. "Surprise!"

"Dear heavens..." Jamieson looked the young girl up and down, a wide smile making its own way to his usually stern face. "You're this big already? I can't believe it... You were barely up to my chest last time I saw you."

"Which was *six years* ago," Isabelle threw him a mock glare. "And that reminds me, who was it that promised to _keep in touch with me, all those years ago, hmm?"_

Jamieson's smile turned just slightly forced, although the apology in his voice was genuine. "I'm so sorry. I should have written a letter to you, but I've been moving around." He gave Lawrence a discreet look, which didn't escaped the ambassador's eyes, then gently disengaged himself from Isabelle's hug. 

"I promise I will talk with you again after this, I'm sure there are a lot of things to catch up on. But for now, I have to bring your father to meet Sir Hawthorne. Brighton here will help you and the rest settle in, then after I've finished working, I'll find you. Alright?"

Isabelle looked slightly disappointed, but she let Jamieson go without a fuss. Lawrence found himself reflecting on how easy it was to read her face, all her emotions out in the open for anyone to see. _So like her mother._

"Alright," Isabelle was saying, stepping away from Jamieson. "But if you break this promise, I'm coming after you, hear? And you've got nowhere to run." She gave him one last brilliant smile then left with Lieutenant Brighton.

Jamieson turned towards Lawrence, his face back to its usual grave expression. "Well," he said briskly, "if you'll follow me? Sir Hawthorne has requested a personal meeting with you first."

Lawrence followed him into the main entrance. The receiving hall was a big open space with tatami-covered floors, a narrow corridor leading towards the inner sections. Western chairs and tables furnished the place, with a few watercolor paintings gracing the walls. The decidedly Japanese structures of the mansion-like building clashed rather oddly with the western furnishings and ornaments.

He wondered how much trouble it had been to obtain these furnishings, or if Hawthorne had simply ordered them from a merchant. It must had cost the treasury a fortune. 

Jamieson stopped before a room at the end of the corridor. Unlike the others, wooden planks separated it from the corridor in a very Western style, and a real solid-wood door graced it, the first Lawrence had seen in the building. 

Knocking and opening the door, Jamieson ushered Lawrence into a spacious, carpeted room. High glass windows graced one side of the wall, the afternoon sun falling down on the rich oak wood of the wide table before it. An old gentleman was leaning back on the high-backed leather chair behind it, shadows half-obscuring his face. 

"Sir Hawthorne, Mister Adrian, the embassy staff had just arrived. This is Sir..."

"Sir Lawrence Rutherford, yes, I know, Major," the old gentleman stood up, smiling at Lawrence. "Welcome to Kyoto embassy, Lawrence. It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Lawrence's feet sank into the thick carpeting as he walked up to shake Hawthorne's hand. He noticed a man standing unobtrusively near the door. If it was not for Jamieson's greeting, he would not have known there was another man in the room. 

"Yes, Sir Hawthorne. Five years, I believe. How have you been?"

Hawthorne's grip was strong and sure, belying his apparent frailness. "Alistair, please. I'm fine, as you can see. Please have a seat." The older man nodded towards Jamieson and the Major left the room quietly, closing the door with a soft click. The young man Lawrence noticed earlier moved to a liquor cabinet and quietly poured some brandy from a crystal decanter. 

"How was the journey from Osaka? It was a long one, wasn't it? I'm afraid there are nothing as advanced as trains in this backward country." 

Lawrence took his place in the opposite chair, the plush leather comfortably soft. "No, it's quite alright. The long ride gave us some time to rest. Ah, thank you." The young man had handed a cut-crystal glass filled with brandy to Lawrence and another to Hawthorne. 

Hawthorne waved a hand towards the young man. "This is my personal assistant, Adrian Devonshire. He's been in Japan for four years, and when I was transferred from Yokohama to Kyoto, he came with me."

"How do you do, Sir Rutherford." Adrian Devonshire' voice, like the rest of him, was quiet and unobtrusive. He was one of those very pale people; unremarkable green eyes on a thin face, his slightly wavy hair a blonde so light as to be almost white.

"So," Hawthorne settled himself more comfortably on his chair, "how's everything back in London?"

"I was only there for half a year, after I returned from Shanghai. But from what I saw, everything is just fine."

"That's good. We'll have to have a long talk about London later. An old man gets home-sick after so long away from home." Hawthorne's amiable expressions turned more serious. "But for now, let us talk about why you've come here. Am I right to assume that you are here with Her Majesty's order for our foreign policy?"

"Yes," Lawrence reached into the inner pocket of his vest and retrieved a crisp white envelope. The flap was sealed with red wax, stamped into a shape of intertwined unicorn and lion. He passed it over to Hawthorne, who took a long look at the flowing cursive letterings on the front, then broke the seal with a flick of his finger. For a while, the room was silent as the Lawrence watched the older man read the letter folded inside. 

Hawthorne finally looked up at Lawrence. His expression did not change as he spoke, "So, this is official then? Our alliance with Satsuma domain instead of Bakufu..."

From the corner of one eye, Lawrence noticed Hawthorne's assistant stiffening slightly, but his attention was fully concentrated on the Embassy Head. The man's reaction was crucial to the success of his task.

"Yes, it is. Needless to say, all the negotiations would be kept as quiet as possible. It would not be possible to keep it completely secret from the government, but the less the Shogunate knows about this the better. We can still keep them guessing, and hopefully by the time they dare to take action against us, it will all be over." 

"As you know, our merchants have been selling small weapons to them for years, but they've been restricted by our implicit policy. We will relax them now and encourage them to increase the sales of arms, starting immediately. To keep it discreet, we may need to utilize the Shanghai black market, but it should be easy to arrange."

"And what do we receive in return?"

"Satsuma and Choshu will be opening more of their ports to us. When they succeed in over-throwing the government, all of our trading will be given preferential treatment. We are still negotiating over how open Japan will be to us and other exact details. But we will definitely insist on their guarantee of non-hostility against our people."

Hawthorne tapped one finger thoughtfully on the table, "I have to say that I've been expecting something along this line. But may I ask what prompted the decision? Why now?"

"Yes." Lawrence leaned forward, "Are you aware that Satsuma is in the process of striking an alliance with Choshu against the Shogunate?"

Hawthorne's eyes widened, "It's true then? I only heard rumors..."

Lawrence nodded, "It's true. You know quite a few of our companies had trading relationships with Satsuma merchants, in Kagoshima and Nagasaki. A few months ago, one of our company _Thomas Glover_'s branches in Nagasaki was approached by the head of a local shipping organization called _'Kaientai'_. A man called Sakamoto Ryoma."

Hawthorne frowned at Lawrence, "Sakamoto Ryoma? I've never heard of him."

Hawthorne's secretary leaned closer and murmured, "That company had done quite a few transactions with our trading companies, mostly buying weapons. All legitimate business. But the man Sakamoto Ryoma has been suspected of being a strong supporter of Ishin Shishi."

Lawrence folded his hands on his laps, "Yes, _Thomas Glover_ had long informed us that they suspected that particular company of being a front for Satsuma operations. Seeing as to who the person who accompanied him was, I suppose we have the answer to that particular suspicion." Lawrence smiled, "You've heard of Saigo Takamori, I suppose?"

"Saigo Takamori of Satsuma?" Hawthorne asked sharply. 

"The very one. One of the foremost effective leaders of Satsuma province. And what was even more surprising was the other person accompanying him. A Choshu representative called Ito Hirobumi - one rumored to be a close friend to both Katsura Kogoro and Takasugi Shinsaku from Choshu. And they're dealing together."

As the older diplomat visibly struggled to absorb the implications involved in the news, Lawrence continued, "They asked for a clandestine meeting with an agent of our foreign office in Kagoshima, they knew _Thomas Glover_ was a source of information for our office."

"What did they want?"

"They want to buy more advanced weaponry… and" Lawrence paused meaningfully, "battle ships." 

Hawthorne sucked in a breath, "Battle-ships… they're serious this time."

"We thought so too. They're keeping it quiet, all dealings will be handled by _Thomas Glover_ and _Kaientai_ as legitimate business, but there's no question as to where the weapons will end up, and what they will be used for."

"How strong is this supposed alliance?"

"A bit tense. Our agent said Sakamoto Ryoma did most of the talking. The impression he got was that Saigo Takamori and Ito Hirobumi were not completely at ease with each other. But they were also definitely working together and committed to their course. Or at least until they manage to overthrow the government."

Hawthorne shook his head in some bemusement, "I never would have believed it...I thought the bad blood between those two could never be bridged. Satsuma did lead the government's punishment attack on Choshu last year."

Lawrence smiled thinly, "Well, I suppose an immediate common enemy takes precedence over old grudges. Or else this Sakamoto Ryoma is a very persuasive person. From what I gathered, he had quite a hand in persuading Satsuma and Choshu to sit at the same table without going for each other's throats." 

Turning serious, he continued, "But you can see why we decided to support them now? Those two are the richest and most powerful factions opposing the government. Allied together...the consensus reached in London was that this alliance of theirs would prove pivotal to the direction this country will take. And we're running out of confidence in the government's ability to stabilize the country. Satsuma and Choshu seem to have more vitality than the old Shogunate."

"Let's just say that once the pieces settle down, we would prefer to be on the winning side."

"I see." Hawthorne took another look at the paper in his hand, "So, we are going to start increasing sales of weapons to them. Better quality rifles and… ground cannons." Hawthorne looked up, "What about battle-ships?"

"That will have to wait for a while. We will need to finalize a few things before we commit ourselves that far. But the guns and sample cannons had already been shipped in a few months ago to here. For this first shipment, it will not be moved through Nagasaki. I need to handle it personally."

Hawthorne grimaced, "You must mean that July shipment?" He shot a look at Adrian, "I don't know if you've already heard of it... but we had rioters who burned and destroyed our warehouse a month ago. I'm afraid the goods from that shipment were among them."

Lawrence blinked in surprise, "That, that is truly... unfortunate." Unfortunate was not the word he was going to say, but he swallowed the inelegant curse before it could escape his mouth. "That's going to create some difficulties, I'm afraid. Part of the reason I'm here is to meet with some of the leaders based in Kyoto to finalize the agreement. But they have been promised that shipment as proof of our sincerity."

"I'm sorry about that." Hawthorne looked sympathetic. "When is the next one going to arrive?"

Lawrence thought fast. "Another one month, if I remember correctly."

"Can't you delay the meeting?"

Lawrence grimaced, "I suppose that's the only thing I can do. I hope they won't think we're trying to renege, I don't think they're a very trusting type."

"Lawrence," Hawthorne stood up from his chair and walked towards the large window. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do? Supporting the rebels... it seems to be a very dangerous gamble that we're taking. You're worried that they'll think we are reneging, but aren't you worried that _they will be the ones who turn on us? We have lost men to them even when they say they are not our enemy. How do you know that they are going to honor this agreement?" _

"I have been assured that we have a good understanding with the two domains' highest authorities. Which, by the way, are not just the Daimyos." Lawrence paused, "I know what you are referring to, but that unfortunate incident with Mister Richardson was done by a Satsuma extremist faction, quite independently of the leaders' wishes."

Again, Lawrence noticed Devonshire tensing at that. He wondered what was bothering the secretary so much. 

"Do you believe that?"

Lawrence looked back at Hawthorne. The older man's eyes were intense although his tone remained conversational. 

Hawthorne continued evenly, "They might say they had no hand in it, but Lord only knows if they're telling the truth. They are a tricky lot, these Japanese. And even if they are speaking the truth, that does not solve the problem. Lawrence, I've been living here for four years, and I will tell you – the natives hate us. If any of us step outside our embassy without heavy guards, that crowd out there would butcher us in a second."

"I understand that, Alistair. But it has been two years, a lot of things have changed in two years time. The effective authority in the two provinces is no longer held by the previous council, and not even exclusive to the ruling Houses. They are in the hands of middle-rank samurai Shishis such as Saigo Takamori and Katsura Kogoro. And ever since Kagoshima and Shimonoseki incidents two years ago, these men had displayed a change in attitude towards us." 

Lawrence's crooked smile belied the gravity of their topic of conversation, "They're no longer so quick to try to kill us and kick us off their land. But most importantly, they know that they need us. They have no hope of winning without our help, specifically our arms and technology."

"Besides, they're too far gone down the road to ever return to the Shogun's grace. They have no other choice left but to fight, and they can't afford to lose. It's a perfectly reasonable decision to set aside old hatred for the advantages an alliance with England will bring. Even if the foot soldiers can't understand it, the leaders do. And they are the ones giving the orders."

"You're that confident that the orders would be followed?"

"We believe so, yes. But that's also part of my job here. The representatives I will be meeting here will be some of the foremost leaders of the Ishin movement. They will be the ones actually driving the revolution here, not those back at the far-away provinces. Before I finalize any agreement with them, I will need to see them face-to-face - to see if they have what it takes to win."

"If not?"

"If not…at best a delay. At worst, if the circumstances are completely different from what we've been given to understand… then we'll have no choice but to throw our support behind the current government instead. We'll have to wait for a better option later."

Hawthorne nodded towards the window, where they could see the blackened gates. "Did you see those on your way in? Four of our men are badly wounded and some of the outlying buildings are burnt to the ground. They shouted for hours for our deaths while they circled the embassy like vultures. Everybody knows Ishin Shishi instigated this. Those are the ones whom we will be allied with, Lawrence. Do you truly think this is wise?"

"I understand your concerns, and it is very valid indeed. Can you tell me more about these 'Ishin Shishi'?"

"Trouble," Hawthorne replied promptly. "Even though you won't hear it from anyone, there's a war going on in Kyoto right now. It's fought on the streets, and most of the fault lies with these… 'Ishin' rebels. Assassinations, raids, riots, burnings and lootings... It's increasing in frequency, the whole city reeks of gunpowder."

"I can tell you that you will find the most extreme gaijin-haters in them. And those 'new leaders' that you talked about are the widely-acknowledged head of these Ishin Shishi."

Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, "I will remember your advice when I meet them, Alistair."

"Please do. For your own sake." Alistair walked back towards Lawrence and offered his hand, signaling the end of the meeting, "This is not England, and it is not Shanghai either. We do not have as much presence or power here, and the natives are even more hostile towards foreigners than the Chinese. Do remember that."

Lawrence tried to shake off the ominous sense of warning those words gave him and took Hawthorne's hand, "Thank you." Time enough to think more on this later.

As Adrian softly closed the door behind Lawrence, Hawthorne stood up with his half-finished brandy in his hand and stared outside the window. The soldiers outside were just starting to clean up the debris littering the compound. Adrian stood waiting patiently. 

After a while, Hawthorne brought the glass to his mouth and gulped down the brandy.

"Prepare the carriage. We are going to Matsudaira's place. There's going to be a lot of things to discuss."

***

Saitou Hajime, the infamous Captain of the Third Troop of Shinsengumi, was in a bad mood. And as his subordinates and peers had long since learned, when Saitou-gumichou was in a bad mood, one stayed out of his line of sight. 

The common citizens of Kyoto had not learned that yet. But the sight of the distinctive blue-and-white haori, coupled with the murderous look on his face, were more than enough to make them scramble out of his way.

The day had not gone well. The night before had qualified as a disaster, but the day had not been better off. Vice-captain Hijikata was less than pleased to learn of the intruder, and of Okita's aborted duel with the Ishin Shishi Battousai. The vice-captain did not raise his voice, but his precisely worded reprimand had sent a flush to Okita Souji's pale face, and set Saitou's blood to a seething boil. 

The fact that the reprimand was no more than deserved only made him even more determined to hunt the ones responsible and even the scores. He did not appreciate being made into a fool, and the omnitsu of the other night had done just that. 

And to add insult to injury, reports were coming in of informers and undercover men who turned up dead before the day was even halfway through. Some of those men had been under his supervision, which was why he was dragging himself all over Kyoto without sleeping a wink the night before. And all of this within less than a day after he returned to Kyoto. 

Oh yes, Saitou Hajime had a lot of reasons to be in a foul mood.

He turned into an alley where rows of small wooden houses stood on both sides of the narrow road. Sluggish waste canals ran along both sides of the road, giving off faint noxious odor of decay that the residents had long since grown accustomed to. Most of the residents here would be lower working-class level, a few of them peering out at him with wary, frightened eyes.

Saitou's lips curled up in a cynical smile. Even though Shinsengumi was responsible for the safety of Kyoto, very few of its citizens would be pleased to receive a visit from those they called the 'wolves of Mibu' in hushed tones.

That was just fine with Saitou Hajime. He had no use for something as whimsical and worthless as people's good opinion, and could care less what others thought about him. He was about to enter one of the houses when a man burst out of the door and stumbled past him.

Without missing a beat, his right ankle shot out and neatly tripped him. As the other person screamed, Saitou flung back his hand and grabbed a fistful of fabric. Yanking him by the ruff of his neck, he dragged the man full circle and hurled him right back through the door where he came from.

The two Shinsengumi inside barely escaped being flattened by the human missile. Their faces paled slightly on seeing Saitou and they quickly busied themselves with holding the dazed man immobile, studiously avoiding their captain's cold glare. 

A woman and two children huddled in a corner of the small living area. Saitou barely gave them a glance. The man he had thrown inside was cowering in the center of the room, blubbering incoherently. One of the Shinsengumi shook him roughly, "Slower Fuji, you idiot. Talk slower."

The man called Fuji flinched, then continued his frantic babble, "H-hai, hai, I don't know anything, please I don't know I'm not involved at all please don't kill me I have children to raise please don't..."

Saitou walked over and looked down at Fuji with narrowed eyes, and then he coolly slapped him. Hard. The other man almost fell over with the blow, his family crying out but silencing quickly when the other two Shinsengumi glared at them.

"Shut up."

Fuji stared up at Saitou from the floor with panic-stricken eyes, but he stopped talking. 

"Now," Saitou said in a deceptively mild voice, "if you don't start making sense, I'm going to shut you up permanently."

He squatted down in front of the kneeling man, "I ask you one question, you answer my question. Simple enough for you to understand?"

Fuji gulped then nodded mutely, staring at Saitou like a rabbit caught by the eyes of a predator.

"One question," Saitou held one finger up before him, "Who instigated the burning last night?"

Fuji started shaking his head frantically, but then Saitou inserted quietly, "If you say you don't know, you have no further use to us, Fuji."

Fuji opened and closed his mouth several times, before he finally stammered out, "I don't know who they..." 

Saitou stood up abruptly and made for the door. A metallic hiss sounded as the other troops started to pull out their katanas. Fuji screamed at Saitou's back, "I swear, please...! I only know a few people in them..." One of the Shinsengumi unsheathed his katana completely with a clear ringing sound, "Taka... Taka would know," he cried out, tears starting to flow down his cheeks, "Taka said he worked for this big-shot Shishi called... Ieda... Ieda Yasuhiro. Taka

was there last night...go ask Taka, please, I don't know..." his last words broke into uncontrollable sobs.

The Shinsengumi slid their katanas back into the sheath. Saitou turned around to look at the man who knelt crying on the floor. Two out of the three other informants he had questioned had said the same thing. He would have to wait until Yamazaki Susumu confirmed it with his sources, but his instinct told him that this was the one. 

_Ieda Yasuhiro. _

He had his first target.

The second target... He debated it with himself, and then knelt down again in front of Fuji, "Have you heard anything from your friends about a new ninja in the services of Ishin Shishi? An exceptionally good one?"

Fuji shook his head hard, "N-no.. I don't know anything like that... I just hear things... please, let me go... I... w-we haven't done anything... we're just trying to make a living..."

_Useless. He would have to look for someone higher up the food chain. Saitou snorted to himself and stood up, nodding to his men. He spoke to Fuji without looking at him, "Get your things packed. My men will guard you and your family as far as the outskirt or any of the boat-quays, your choice, then you're on your own."_

The wife that had been silent until now finally cried out, "Na-nani...? We're leaving? Why?!"

Saitou looked at her sideways, smirking slightly, "What...do you want to stay here? It's not like you're going to be terribly welcomed around here anymore. Especially by those 'friends' of your husband's."

"But...but we've been living here all our lives, my grandparents have lived here all..."

Saitou cut her off coolly, "If you want to stay, that's just fine with me. I have better things to do for my men than play bodyguards. But let it not be said that Shinsengumi do not at least give you some chance of living."

Before he turned towards the broken door, Saitou calmly threw her one last sentence, "Oh, and if I were you... I'd think twice about a husband who's the first to run when trouble comes knocking."

As he walked out of the soon-to-be vacated house, Saitou could hear the man's pathetic pleas and the wife's broken whispers. "...we just want to live here...in Kyoto...in our home...why..." The children were starting to cry.

_Why? As he walked away from the alley, Saitou answered the question silently. __Because this is not a time that allows people to straddle two boats at the same time. You are either on one side or another. There is no neutral ground; there are no innocent by-standers. _

_And anyone who does not make their stand will have no one to blame but themselves when they are swept away by the greatest forces in motion in the last three hundred years._

He let the last few moments disappear from his thoughts. There were more important things to think about. Like how to get to Ieda Yasuhiro. The man was one of the foremost leaders of Choshu Ishin Shishi and a well-known radical supporter of _Sonno Joi_. Finding out where he was holed up in would be nice, but that was not something that could be discovered overnight. Which simply gave him the task that he would be devoting himself to over the next few weeks or months, however long it took. 

The other thing would be tracing out this omnitsu. After a terse discussion this morning, Hijikata-san had sent a letter to the newly established Oniwabanshu branch in Kyoto. It would be sent to Edo for the sole hand of its Okashira - Makimachi Hayato. He had some idea of what that would result in. 

Saitou scowled. Kyoto was going to get pretty crowded soon. He was starting to get that uncomfortable itch in his mind. Nothing tangible, but he had long since learned to trust his instincts. There was simply a feeling in the air of something... something waiting to happen...

There was a slight shifting of the crowd in front of him, a small murmuring that drew his attention. A four-men palanquin was coming this way, a small procession accompanied simply by a few soldiers and retainers. A modest-sized entourage, befitting for a minor noble or a rich merchant. A common enough thing, not worthy of more than a few casual glances. 

But Saitou Hajime stood there as if rooted to the spot.

There was a small symbol at the front of the palanquin, a fist-sized house insignia carved into the wood above the curtained entrance - a circle with five leaves radiating out from the center. 

_A sakura made of leaves. _

For the briefest of moment, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to turn around and walk the other direction. The next moment, he quashed the thought ruthlessly out of his mind. 

_Ridiculous. Why should *I* walk away? _

Disgust at himself, and not a little anger, welled up inside of him. Outwardly, nothing changed. Only the slightest tightening of his face and a colder than usual glint in his eyes betraying anything less than usual. His feet resumed their interrupted course, almost defiantly straight towards the palanquin. 

As he walked near the procession, his skin prickled with the awareness of being watched. He forced himself to ignore it, walking at the same unhurried pace as before.

There was a man walking beside the palanquin, a large straw-hat pulled low and covering almost all of his face. His clothes were hidden under a rainproof straw mantle, the incongruousness of such attire in a bright day like today drawing a few looks from the crowd. As he walked, his movement stirred the mantle to reveal a pair of daisho nestled beside his waist. It was the only thing hinting that he might be something more than a simple retainer.

That, and the almost intangible aura of blood around him.

Saitou walked past him, so near their sleeves brushed against each other. In that instant two pairs of eyes met in a flash faster than the blink of an eye. Dark amber against shadowed green. A lop-sided smirk from under the shadow of the hat, and the instance passed. 

Saitou Hajime of Shinsengumi walked on without a backward look. 

The palanquin continued silently for a short while, before a soft male voice from the inside sounded. 

"Does that man amuse you so, Hyou?" 

The man outside tilted his head towards the voice, his lop-sided smirk turning into a grin. "Nothing escapes you, ne? Matsudaira-san."

A soft laugh, "I just know you well."

"You're right about that," the other man gave an answering laugh, "I just did not expect to see any wild animals in the city." 

"Oh? Wild animals..."

Hyou threw a look back where Saitou Hajime had disappeared. "Aa," he agreed cheerfully, "Can you sense it? A wolf just passed us by."

***

About Notes - I will put in the relevant information to the story in the story itself (or at least, that's what I'm aiming at ^^;;), so it's not that necessary to read the Notes in order to understand what's going on ^_^. But sometimes the info will come much later in the story, and those who'd like not to be in the dark in the meantime will find the Notes helpful. But there are other explanations other than the historical ones, so those will still be useful. 

Notes (especially long this time, hope I didn't mangle Japan's history too much ^_^;;) :

1. Characters: 

Sakamoto Ryoma (1835-1867). Anybody doesn't know who he is? ^_^ He's very famous in Japan, I gathered, though not so much outside of Japan. He acted as mediator in the creation of the Sat-Cho alliance (Satsuma and Choshu), or to put it less seriously, he managed to get the 2 representatives (Kido Takayoshi / Katsura Kogoro from Choshu, Saigo Takamori from Satsuma) to sit together without killing each other ^_~. He was from Tosa province, which later joined the Sat-Cho alliance to wrestle Kyoto from Bakufu in the coup in 1868, forced Edo to surrender and started Meiji. I believe he owned the Kaientai trading company, but also ran it on behalf of Satsuma and helped Ishin Shishi get foreign weapons. Watsuki-sensei mentioned his death during the Tsuioku-hen.

Ito Hirobumi (1841-1909), Choshu loyalist, studied under the same Yoshida Shoin sensei as Katsura Kogoro (Yoshida Shoin's death was in RK OVA 1, and he was the source of Katsura's belief of 'enduring madness to destroy an era'), went to study in London in 1863-64, a "Western expert". Colleague with both Katsura Kogoro and Takasugi Shinsaku. Later he rose steadily in Meiji government and became Prime Minister – bet you didn't think he was that important, ne? ^_~

Saigo Takamori, another extremely famous person, one of the 3 Ishin Shishi who were later known as 'Ishin Sanketsu' (the other 2 are Katsura Kogoro and Okubo Toshimitchi). Actually, he seemed to be the most famous out of the 3, and the most popular. More on him later. 

Katsura Kogoro and Takasugi Shinsaku. Do I need to mention them here? ^_^; Both of them appeared in Manga, mostly Tsuioku-hen, and the OVA. Both were foremost leaders of Choshu Ishin Shishi, and Katsura was Kenshin's immediate superior. 

Yamazaki Susumu – head of Shinsengumi's information network and spies

2. Nagasaki is a port in Kyushu island (the big island below Japan's main continent), it had a thriving international trade, it has been a foreign trade port since the 1600s. Most of the above talk about 'Thomas Glover' and 'Kaientai' is based on truth, but I stretched some things and put a lot of fictional spin into it ^^;.

3. 'Sonno Joi' = 'revere the emperor, expel the barbarians', the slogan of Ishin at the time. Barbarians means the foreigners of course ^__^. 

4. 'the razing of Choshu' refers to Bakufu's punishment attack on Choshu fief in August 1864, because of their persistent hostility towards foreigners and Bakufu. It's called 'Dai Ichi Choshu Seibatsu' (thanks Serizawa-san! ^_^). Satsuma soldiers were a part of the attack force. This is the first punishment attack, there's another one later on in 1866. 

5. The other recent source of bad blood between Choshu and Satsuma was the 'Kinmon no hen', July 1864, it was in the manga and the OVA, when Kyoto burned for 3 days. 3,000 Choshu soldiers attacked Kyoto for revenge against the slaughter in Ikedaya Inn. Bakufu army, including Satsuma forces, numbered 80,000 – you can guess the result ^^;;. 

6. 'Shimazu' is the Daimyo family (Daimyo is the head ruler of the province/han) for Satsuma-han, 'Matsudaira' is the Daimyo family for Aizu-han, the fief where Saitou and Megumi came from and lived their early lives. The daimyo was Matsudaira Katamori, the Matsudaira in the fic was a relative. As to Saitou's reaction to the family emblem… well, they came from the same place, and I'm letting my imagination run rampant here ^^;;. And no, the family emblem was fictional ^^;; 

[On toChapter 6 : Storm Coming][1]

[mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk][2]

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/9810/Fanfic/DSBL6.html
   [2]: mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk



	7. Storm coming

Chapter 6 : Storm Coming

Chapter 6 – Storm Coming

_--- Outskirt of Kyoto_

There were birds singing somewhere. 

He lay still for a long time listening to the soft sounds, listening to his own heavier breathing. Gradually, he became aware of more things. The rough scratchy feel of straw against his skin, the warmth of a cotton blanket covering him, a stale fishy smell in the air. 

His body felt heavy, not his own. Opening his eyes took some effort. Dust motes floated in the air above him, highlighted by soft golden rays of light that shone in from cracks in the thatched roof above. The dust motes danced in an intricate play of movement, stirred by gentle eddies of air too soft to be felt. His mouth felt dry and parched.

_Where am I?_

Instinctively he reached for his katana, beside his sword hand where he usually put it. His fingers closed on empty space. Frantic fear rose up in him. His katana never left his side, it was as much an extension of his body as his arms were. Fingers searching frantically suddenly brushed against something solid, almost out of reach, a cool smoothness very familiar to him. With a sigh of relief, he clutched the sword into his hand. 

Next, he needed to find out where he was. Years of living on the edge as a hitokiri, then as a guerilla fighter, had trained that reflex into his bones. 

Pushing the covering blanket aside, he tried to sit up and was alarmed by how weak he felt. His arms trembled and could barely support his weight. Light-headedness and dizziness assaulted his head, but he stubbornly continued to push himself up, leaning to his left. 

Immediately his left arm buckled under the strain, half-dumping him back to the pallet. The partially registered stiffness on his right side flared into hot pain. He gasped and went absolutely still, teeth clenched tight. After a while, the pulsing pain subsided into a bearable ache. But it had served to jolt his memory back to what had happened. 

_The river. Kyosuke._

_I'm alive._

There was a strange twinge somewhere deep in his heart on realizing that, but he refused to acknowledge it. He kept lying down for a while, catching his breath. He noticed someone hadreplaced his blood-soaked clothing with a clean yukata that fit loosely on his thin frame. Looking around, he saw that he was inside a small wooden hut with a blanket spread over a pile of straw for bed. There were only a few rough, clay-cooking implements, bare in the extreme.

Once again he tried to get up. Very carefully, he pushed himself up to his knees, favoring his injured left arm. Moving slowly reduced the pain to a bearable level. Using his katana as a crutch, he supported himself to his feet, leaning on the wall. His head felt too heavy and his feet wobbled uncertainly, but they did not collapse. Careful not to move too fast, he slowly crept along the wall towards the closed wooden door. A push sent it open with a protesting creak. 

Outside, the late evening sun reflected brilliantly from the wide river surface, turning it a glittering crimson and gold. The hut stood on the slope of the slightly raised bank of the river, surrounded by tall grass. A well-worn path led to a small rickety dock beside the river. A few narrow fishing boats dotted the placid surface, a lone fisherman on each boat.

_Kyosuke is probably in one of those boats._

The thought was barely out of his mind when a voice hollered somewhere from the side.

"OY! OY, HIMURA!"

A large man was waving his hands vigorously on top of the small hill. When he saw he had Kenshin's attention, he started down towards the hut. Kenshin judged the distance to the hut and decided to wait for the other man inside. On the pallet. His head was starting to spin and the glare hurt his eyes. He walked back at the same invalid pace as before, crushing his impatience firmly. Slow was far better than flat on his face in the dirt.

When he attempted to sit back down, his feet simply gave way and he sprawled rather painfully on the straw. Cursing between gritted teeth, he pulled his limbs into a semblance of dignity just as Kyosuke entered the hut. 

Kyosuke's wide friendly face was scrunched up in a worried frown, "Hey, you're not supposed to be moving yet. The sensei who patched you up said you lost a lot of blood, you need rest."

Kenshin shook his head, then stopped when it made the spinning worse. "I'm fine." His voice sounded rusty to his own ears. "How long was I out?"

Kyosuke knelt beside him and lifted a cup of water sitting beside the pallet. "This is the fourth day after I fished you out of the water." Kyosuke grinned as he offered Kenshin the water.

Kenshin's mind reeled. He stared at Kyosuke in shock, "FOUR DAYS?!" Then he sputtered as Kyosuke insistently fed him the water. The cool water felt incredibly wonderful to his parched mouth and he drank thirstily. 

"You had one hell of a fever. Your wound was infected, and you were soaked in that river water. For a while there, we were really worried." Kyosuke's eyes were somber as he scrutinized his friend. Kenshin tried not to fidget under the concerned gaze, unaccustomed to such attention. Then the moody expression disappeared from the big man's face and he was smiling his usual bright smile. 

"Don't worry, nothing happened. Well, not to us anyway. Kyoto was in chaos though - thanks to you we got the list of Shinsengumi and some seifu spies. Now most of them are dead or in hiding. Katsura-san said you're to rest for two to three weeks before you have to do anything. He said 'good work' to all of us." Kyosuke beamed at him. 

Kenshin hardly dared to believe their luck. "The mission was a complete success?"

Kyosuke froze slightly, his eyes rising to the ceiling as he stammered, "Et-to..."

Sighing, Kenshin resignedly said, "Tell me the whole thing Kyosuke. You're a horrible liar anyway."

Kyosuke scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "Maa, maa, Himura. I just didn't want to worry you. You always take things so seriously, I thought...", seeing Kenshin's glare, he hurriedly added, "aah, I thought I'd tell you the whole thing? Anyway, our part went off perfectly, but the one who was supposed to break into the safe in the Shinsengumi's headquarter was caught red-handed. By the Third troop's Captain, Saitou Hajime."

Kenshin looked up in surprise, "I thought he was supposed to be in Edo?"

"He came back the day before." Kyosuke hastily raised his hands to ward off Kenshin's glower, "Katsura-san thought it's best not to distract you."

"Anyway, our man got the spy list, and a few other things, but he didn't get it all. He did burn all those documents before he escaped, so Katsura-san said those Shinsengumi are probably still trying to sort things out now. He said we could take advantage of that. It's not our fault," he added on seeing Kenshin's increasingly bleak face. 

Kenshin said nothing, his mind in dark turmoil. _After all that effort, we still didn't get the most important things. It's a good thing we finally know who the spies in our midst are, but with those other documents, we could do so much more. His fists clenched in bitter anger. __How much is this all worth in the big picture? If this is all that I can do when I put in all my efforts, how little it all means in the end. _

A hand holding a rice ball appeared before him. He started, looking up into Kyosuke's warm brown eyes. "Eat some, you haven't eaten in four days. We couldn't get anything into you."

Kenshin eyed the food, nausea rising in sickening wave in his stomach. "You eat it," he murmured, turning his head away, "I'm not hungry."

He felt sturdy palms on his shoulders, then Kyosuke was firmly turning him towards him. Kenshin stiffened at the flesh contact and had to stifle his ingrained reaction to push the hands away. He looked at Kyosuke's earnest brown eyes, a frown creasing his friend's thick brows. After a moment, Kyosuke sighed and bowed his head.

"I'm not supposed to tell you this," he muttered softly, but his eyes were smiling when he looked back at Kenshin, "But I can see that you're just going to be miserable otherwise."

Kenshin's eyes flashed, but Kyosuke spoke before he managed to open his mouth, "Our man who got into the safe managed to get quite a few useful pieces of information. Katsura-san said probably more than the Shinsengumi suspected. Among other things...remember the rebellion near Biwa Lake? Well, we found out the schedule and route of the next supply runs to the military suppressing it. He's sending a group of Shishis to intercept it, destroy it if necessary. There could be something fishy in that run, since it made it into the top-secret documents."

"So you see Himura," he grinned at him, "the mission's not as bad a failure as you think. And I'm just a simple fisherman, so Katsura-san won't tell me anything. But I think he was quite pleased, so there's gotta be some nice stuff we've gotten our hands on." He pushed the rice ball into Kenshin's hand. "Now, eat."

Kenshin stared at his gently smiling friend for a while, then at the food in his hand. His stomach did not rebel quite as badly as before, so he took a tentative bite. They ate their meal in silence. Later as Kyosuke bustled about tidying up their meal, Kenshin cleared his throat and said in a soft voice, "Kyosuke... arigatou."

Kyosuke just grinned at him. They both knew the thanks were for more than the food or his rescue from the river. 

"Himura, are you tired?"

Kenshin leaned back carefully against the hut's side. "I've slept enough, I think," he replied dryly. "What is it?"

Kyosuke scratched his head again, "Ano... if it's not too much trouble..."

Kenshin broke into a rare soft smile. "It's alright. But I'm afraid you'll have to help me bring the paper and brush."

The other man scrambled hastily to his feet, wide smile on his face, "Of course, you just stay there, Himura. I'll prepare the ink for you." 

Kenshin watched his friend with fond amusement as the big man hurriedly fetched all the writing implements. He laid them all carefully on a low wooden box in front of Kenshin, just high enough for a convenient writing position. Kenshin propped his elbows on the box, thankful for Kyosuke's thoughtful consideration, and reached for the writing brush. "Alright, what do you want me to write then?"

Kyosuke pursed his lips, brows drawn in fierce concentration, "Etto... the usual first Himura. How are you tousan, kaasan, I'm fine, don't worry. Tetsuya, Michiru, Akari, are you all healthy? How's tousan's back, is kaasan still coughing in the night, did you get the medicine I sent you..."

"Slow down, Kyosuke," Kenshin interrupted with some amusement, "I can't write that fast."

"Aaa, sumaan, Himura !" Kyosuke apologized sheepishly, then he grinned at Kenshin rather wistfully, "You're so clever, Himura, you can read and write. I don't know how, only our village chief knows how to. If you haven't helped me, I'd have had to pay so much to those writers in Kyoto just for one letter."

Kenshin shrugged, careful not to smear the words, "Shishou taught me how to, he said that he didn't want to be embarrassed by a student who couldn't even spell 'Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu'." 

He let his mind wander as he wrote down Kyosuke's words. As usual, when thinking or talking about his shishou, there was a dull, leaden pain in his heart. For the hundredth time, he wished they had parted on better terms. If Hiko Seijurou did not stop to save him that cold night eight years ago, he would be just another nameless dead body. And he had taught him Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu - the best in the art of killing. Had given him one skill that saved him from being a powerless victim, one skill that he could use to make a difference to this world. And yet... 

It could not be helped. They believed in different things, and Kenshin grudgingly admitted both of them were stubborn to a fault. Neither of them would yield in their belief in what was the right thing to do. He wondered though, knowing what he did now, if he would have chosen the same path, given another chance. Kenshin gave a mental shake to himself. There was no point in thinking of what might-have-been. One could only go on the best they know how. But a nagging whisper persisted at the back of his mind… _no matter the cost ?_

Kyosuke was finishing the letter in his usual way, "...and take care of yourselves, all of you. I missed you all a lot." He hesitated a bit, then added in a rush, the words coming out in an uneven tone, "I love you all, remember that. No matter what happens, I always will. So take care and be happy. Your big brother, Kyosuke."

Kenshin looked up at Kyosuke somewhat in surprise, but the older man was looking down at the floor. That addition was unusual, but if the man did not want to talk... 

"Done," Kenshin said aloud to Kyosuke, carefully blowing on the thin paper to dry the ink. 

Kyosuke looked up and beamed at him, "Domo arigatou, Himura," Whatever strange mood had prompted those last sentences was no longer present in his face. "I'd better give this to Taro-kun now, he's going to go back to our village tomorrow. He'll also help me take some of Kyoto's sweets for Tetsuya, Mitchiru and Akari, I'm sure they'll love it! A bit more of those medicines for 'kaasan, and some money for 'tousan. What, Himura?" Kenshin was shaking his head, smiling slightly at him.

"You're a good man, Kyosuke. Any woman who gets to marry you will be very lucky."

Kyosuke's face reddened and he laughed, slapping the back of his head, "What are saying, Himura? I'm just a poor peasant, I'm not handsome like you, and I'm not smart or good with a sword either. Women don't give me second looks like they give you, Himura."

Kenshin shook his head again, replying quietly, "Don't sell yourself so short. In matters of happiness, looks and skills don't really amount to much. A dependable man with good heart is better able to bring happiness to his family." _Something that I could not do. _

"Hah, arigatou-yo. Ara, Himura, are you tired?"

Kenshin had leaned back against the wall, his eyes shut and brows drawn tight. His side was starting to ache badly again, even though he really did not do much. His muscles felt tired and heavy. "A bit." 

"Dame-yo, Himura. Come on, I'll help you lie down. You need rest."

Kenshin did not resist Kyosuke's help. It troubled him how weak he felt and he wondered how long before he could gain back his health. He rather suspected it would be some time.

After he had helped Kenshin get comfortable, Kyosuke said apologetically, "I'm sorry, I tired you out Himura. I just... I thought it's best to send my family a letter before I go. Himura, I have to leave tonight for the mission." Seeing Kenshin's questioning look, he continued, "Remember what I said about the shipment? I'll be ferrying our people down the river near the ambush point, maybe also join in the attack itself. It'll probably be three to four days before I can get back." 

Kenshin tried to get up, his right hand instinctively reaching for his katana, "I should…"

"No," Kyosuke gently but firmly pushed Kenshin back down, "you are most definitely not joining in. You're too weak, you should know that. Don't worry, we have enough people to roll over the escort." He grinned at Kenshin, "We might not have much skill, but we have numbers. Besides, they don't know we're coming." 

"But I can't…"

"Yes, you can. Katsura-san said you're to take leave until you're recovered. And that's an order. He knew you'd be like this, that's why he told me not to tell you. Please, don't be stubborn this time, Himura. You really need to rest."

Kenshin reconsidered his condition. His first instinct was to go by his friend's side. An ambush on a military escort was chancy at best. If there was indeed something important about this particular supply, odds were it would be heavily guarded, and most probably with guns. That always left heavy casualties. He did not want Kyosuke to be one of those. That possibility had obviously occurred to Kyosuke, it explained that disturbingly worded letter. 

_So that's why...in case he never comes back._

But he could not protect him now. Kenshin was honest enough with himself to admit that he probably would not be able to walk to the river without falling on his face, let alone wielding a sword in a fight. He would just be a burden to the rest. Once decided, he forced himself to relax on the pallet. 

"That's better," Kyosuke grinned. "I've asked Mamoru-kun to bring some warm food for you everyday, his wife's a good cook. The physician is coming back in two days time to check on you. Don't move around too much or you'll tear your wounds again."

Kenshin forced a small smile, "Go. Stop worrying over me like a mother hen. I'll be fine."

Kyosuke laughed heartily, "Like a mother hen, am I? All right, all right, I won't say anything anymore. I swear, you are so much like him..."

Kenshin blinked in surprise. "Who?"

Kyosuke's smiling face was shadowed with a hint of sadness. "Iya, nandemonai..." He abruptly turned around, "I'll see you in a few days. Jaa, Himura."

"Kyosuke..."

The other man paused beside the door, "Aa?"

"... take care." 

Kyosuke's warm smile lit up his whole face. "Arigatou, Himura." He stepped out of the hut. 

Kenshin stared at the closed door for a while. He had wanted to say - _Live. He sighed and tried to relax. But despite his exhaustion and pain, his mind was racing around too much for him to sleep. He could not push away the worry that something might happen to Kyosuke, and he would not be there to help him. Even though he only knew Kyosuke for less than a year, he was genuinely fond of the older man. _

The first time he had met Kyosuke was in one of the safe houses, after one of the missions. Back in those days, Kyosuke seldom went on attacks. He worked in the background, providing supplies and equipment for the assault teams, and occasionally ferrying them on his fishing boat to wherever they needed to go. He also prepared food, help dress injuries, and basically did all the household chores for the others. He never minded doing things that many men scorn as women's work. He would simply laugh it off and say that he was used to helping his ailing mother care for the household. 

For whatever reason of his own, ever since they met, Kyosuke had seemed to make it his business to take care of the former hitokiri. And Kenshin had needed some caring in those first few months after Tomoe's death. 

He did not realize it at first, but there would always be some hot food left in the kitchen on those days when he would return to his room straight after a mission, skipping food. Kyosuke regularly knocked on the door of his room, calling for him to come and eat. Cold rebuttals and stony silence were blithely ignored, biting rejoinders to leave him alone would simply result in a tray of food left in front of his door. On those days when he went off alone and returned bone-tired from a demanding mission, medicine and bandages would be ready side by side with hot food on the table. Through it all, Kyosuke asked for nothing back from him and did not seem to expect anything either.

Kenshin was still cautious about trusting anyone again after what happened with Idzuka. But after a while, Kyosuke's apparent good will and warm heart finally succeeded in penetrating his considerable inner wall. He was not sure if he trusted Kyosuke fully, but he was still one of very few people that Kenshin called a friend, and he knew that he would not hesitate to fight to protect Kyosuke. 

Although he wondered how much that was worth. 

The gods seemed fond of playing cruel tricks on him; he was feared as one of the deadliest man alive, and after he had changed to being a bodyguard he had done a good job of protecting his fellow Ishin Shishi. But in all his life, he always failed those whom he most wished to protect... starting from his parents, Kasumi, Sakura, Akane.... and Tomoe.

_Stop it, stop thinking like this again. It doesn't help, it never did, never will. Stop. _

The heavy mood was smothering him, but he was helpless to escape from it. In the silence of the hut, there was nothing to disturb him, nothing to distract his thoughts from trudging down the well-worn path in his mind. 

_Stop._

His hand reached out and clamped around the cold hilt of his katana, pulling it in to huddle against his side. There was a certain comfort that came with the familiar presence of the sword. More and more, he found himself reluctant to part from it. It was one of the many changes he had noticed in himself in recent months. Subtle changes, but telling. Even if he did not want to know what they were telling him. 

The blanket was warm enough, but he still found himself shivering. A familiar soft voice murmured in his mind's ears, an image of her calm face tilted up to him – _can you sleep without a katana by your side? _

Once. One night, when he rested with a pair of gentle arms encircling him, and for the first time was able to forget what he was. 

_Do you have anywhere that you belong to?_

A savage twist in his heart made him close his eyes tightly, his body unconsciously half-curling against the rough bedding. 

Not anymore. 

Times like this, he wondered if everybody that he cared for would be touched by this curse of his, to die a violent death with him powerless to protect them. He desperately hoped that was not true. Sometimes it felt so lonely... 

He crushed the thought away - it had been that way almost all his life, he had learned to live with it. People did not stay. And in a time like this, death was too common. He kept most people at a safe distance away, was it to prevent himself from caring again? And from hurting when they die...

The only person who had ever reached past the walls of his heart was Tomoe. She had touched his soul, and for the first time in his life he was not alone. And he had destroyed that most precious light with his own hands. 

He wearily drifted off into a fitful rest. A phrase he had heard once came back to haunt him to his sleep - _misfortunes dealt by the gods can be absolved, but those brought about by one's own hands are unforgivable. _

***

_The next day..._

The late afternoon sun beat down on the forested hills, cool mountain wind stirring up the fallen autumn leaves. A trail of men and horse-drawn carts were making their way down a deserted mountain road. 

It was a reasonably impressive entourage, around forty soldiers clad in leather armor, half of them armed with western rifles. They surrounded the convoy of carts loaded with sturdy boxes. Several officers rode on horseback at the front of the line, setting a comfortable pace. They were well within schedule, there was no need to hurry. The convoy was too big for any roaming bandits to try for their precious cargo, and besides, they had been assured that none of the rebels knew of their supply run. 

He did not know that carrier pigeons had been released two days ago to carry urgent messages to him and several other entourages. He and his men were in between communication posts, and they had no way of knowing the danger they were walking into. 

Their first warning of trouble was when the ground burst under their feet in a succession of powerful explosions, right in the middle of the convoy. Over half of the carts tumbled into the air in broken pieces, wooden boxes crashing heavily to the ground. Most of the carthorses and the soldiers standing nearby were killed outright or heavily wounded. Panicked screams from men and beasts alike, and confused shouts filled the air as the rest of the convoy scrambled frantically away from the deadly ground. Some of the braver ones tried to help their injured comrades, which only added to the chaotic tangle. 

The officer at the front screamed orders at his men, desperately trying to salvage the disaster, knowing there was more coming. His shouts gurgled to a stop though as a shaft of arrow pierced his neck. He fell off the horse clawing at his neck as more arrows rained down on the soldiers from both sides of the mountain trail. The distance was too close for leather armor to save the soldiers and another ten men fell to the ground. 

The first few gun-shots cracked through the air as some soldiers lost their calm and started shooting wildly towards the mountain sides. Almost all of them missed as the ambushers ducked behind surrounding trees. Order would have completely disintegrated if not for the second officer. Riding low on his horse, he kicked and cursed his panicking men into order. He had half of the remaining men with guns lined up and laying a suppressing fire towards the left side of the trail. All the rest charged screaming to engage the opposite side, those with rifles supporting their comrades from behind. 

Their attackers were crouched behind the tree line, a motley crowd of poorly dressed men with no armor and mismatched weapons. As previously instructed, both sides came down the trail to hit the convoy with a flanking move. Bows were thrown down, replaced by axes, scythes, and spears as they rushed down to meet the soldiers' charge. 

The battle was engaged in earnest at last. 

The first few minutes cost the ambushers dearly as multiple shots rang out and men were hit sprawling into the dirt. For a while, the last-ditch tactic worked, the line of rifle-men shooting down attackers and slowing down the charge from the left. The rest of the soldiers fought with the right flank attackers for all they were worth. The only way for them to survive was to kill enough of this group before the rest could attack them from behind. And yet, even though the ambushers were inferior in equipment and skill, there were more of them. For each man the soldiers killed two more took his place. 

Then with a roar, all of the left flank ambushers rushed towards the line of rifle-men, ignoring the shots that whittled them down. At the forefront, a tall one-eyed man led the charge as the ambushers crashed into the rifle-men, the katana in his hands flashing red as he wielded it with lethal skill and ruthlessness. The sheer momentum and brutality of the mass attack overwhelmed the soldiers and the line crumbled. Order and discipline dissolved in the pitched,close-quarter battle, battle-fever and stark survival instincts taking over. Again, superior number proved a decisive factor and it did not take long before the soldiers were barreled over. 

The main force was still locked in a fierce melee when the left flank ambushers smashed into them from behind. And the outcome was sealed. 

***

Kyosuke swung the spear in his hand in a powerful side blow. In the close quarters, the long pole crashed into two men at once, Kyosuke's incredible strength sweeping them both to the ground. Two Ishin Shishi beside him rushed forward to engage them, and he was about to follow when another soldier armed with a katana jumped in their place. 

The other man's eyes were wild with berserk rage and desperation, and he screamed as he brought his sword down. Kyosuke blocked his overhead blow, the other's crazed strength making him grunt a little. He flexed his elbows and surged up, throwing off the katana, then he thrust for the soldier's stomach. The soldier twisted aside and slashed for Kyosuke's head. Frantically, Kyosuke raised his spear straight up, blocking the blow. He had a frantic moment to pray that the spear would not get cut in half, then the katana hit his weapon with a vicious jar, biting half an inch into the wood. 

He saw his opening and as the soldier tried to pull off his weapon, he tilted the spear and slammed its lower end up between the man's legs. Not very honorable, but he was no samurai. The soldier's eyes bulged out, his mouth open in a soundless exclamation, then Kyosuke smashed the side of his spear against the man's neck. A sickening crunch of bone signaled a crushed neck, and a man who had been alive a fraction of a second ago fell limbless to the ground. 

Before he drew more than one ragged breath, a gun-shot cracked near enough for him to jump. Whirling around, he saw behind him a group of men surrounding a soldier in horse-back, an officer by the look of it. They were trying to pull him down, but the obviously battle-trained horse was in a berserk rage, rearing wildly and kicking anyone who tried to come near. The officer itself had a small gun on his hand, trying to shoot his way through the mob. 

"Get the horse!" Someone was screaming above the commotion. "Get the damn horse!"

One of the men was clipped by a glancing kick from the horse and fell with a cry, landing dangerously close to the stamping hooves. Kyosuke recognized the man from a few dinners together. As the horse reared above the man, he rushed forward without even thinking and slammed his entire weight against the horse's side. The animal staggered under the force, its hooves landing a bare foot away from the cowering man underneath. Kyosuke took the chance to grab the horse's bridle, forcing it down. He panted as his mucles strained against the bucking

horse, flinching as it snapped foam-lines teeth inches from his shoulder. If he could only hold the animal still long enough...

Then he heard a soft click and found himself looking up a barrel of a revolver, and the officer's cold eyes behind it. He froze Death stared him right in the eyes, the black hole of the barrel expanding out of proportion to engulf him...

Suddenly the officer jerked forward as a blade tip emerged miraculously from his chest. The gun fell from his hand as he reached vainly for his wound. The horse bucked again, pulling Kyosuke off the ground and nearly wrenching his arms off their sockets, and the officer was thrown to the ground. He lay limply on his side, a wakizashi piercing him through from behind. 

Kyosuke scrambled away from the mad horse and dragged the other man with him. He twisted around wildly for more threats, but all the ones standing near him were Ishin Shishis. 

"Kyosuke!"

He looked around to see a man striding purposely in his direction. A lean man with a distinctive vertical scar running across his blind left eye. The leader of this mission.

Kyosuke had to try twice before his throat could work enough to answer, "Kan… Kanzaki-san."

The one-eyed man came up beside the fallen officer and prodded him once to make sure he was dead, then he turned towards Kyosuke. 

"Nice of you to hold the horse still," he remarked drily, "but I wouldn't call grabbing on to an angry war-horse a very smart move, Kyosuke."

Kyosuke could only shake his head mutely, not trusting his voice. Kanzaki pulled the wakizashi out of the officer's and wiped the blade clean on the man's trousers. "But thanks for the help. This guy's the second-in-command. Wouldn't do to have him running for help." He glanced over at Kyosuke, "Relax, Kyo. It's over."

"E..eh?"

He realized then that all the fighting was mostly finished, the forty something members of the convoy already lying on the ground, dead or heavily wounded. The surrounding area was littered with bodies, not all of them in soldier uniform.

It was only then that he was aware of his frantic panting. Not out of breath, but rather the frenzied adrenaline of battle. His heart felt ready to leap out of his mouth. He leant on bended knees, half-hunched as he tried to steady his shaking legs. Funny that they only started shaking now, now that it was all over. 

_How did Himura do this? Day after day. _

That gun… he felt the late reaction setting in, magnifying his trembling until it rattled his whole body. He clamped down on it as much as he could, feeling Kanzaki's eyes on him. This was not the first time he had been shot at, but it was the first time he had a gun pointed right at his nose. If Kanzaki had not thrown that blade, he would have been dead now.

"Thanks, Kanzaki-san," he croaked out. "I mean… that gun…"

Kanzaki slapped him on the back, "Don't worry about it. When you feel better, come and help me over there, eh?" He walked away, calling out to other men.

Kyosuke took deep breaths and turned to find a patch of ground to sit on. His gaze fell on the soldier he had killed earlier, the one dead with a crushed neck. The man's sightless eyes stared at nothing, already filmed with death. 

Kyosuke hurriedly averted his eyes and edged away from the dead man. Cold sweat beaded his face and he sank to a rest leaning on a tree. 

"Please don't haunt me later, alright?" he muttered up at the sky. "I didn't really hate you or anything, you know? I'll burn some offering for you next time I go to the temple. I know it's not much, but…" He trailed off miserably, feeling the foolishness of his words. 

Would the dead man hear him? Some of his friends would laugh him off for being superstitious. Kyosuke did not know if he was being foolish, but burning those offerings at the temple had not been completely because of fear of ghosts. It was guilt. 

Guilt that the other man was dead and he was alive. And that he felt so relieved to be alive, after he had killed another person.

What would Himura think? 

The thought of the younger man made him remember their last sparring together. Not that it had been a real spar, Himura simply went through a few simple forms with him. The younger man had shown him the move he had used to kill the soldier. Hr remembered laughing with embarrassment at that low move, but Himura had looked at him with those eyes of his gone all still and cold, and told him - _You're not a samurai. You have a family back home. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is to live. By any means necessary. _

Would the former hitokiri think his guilt a foolish thing too? Kill, or be killed. Was that not the rule that all _kenkaku_ understand and embrace? Which means that the younger man most probably *would* call him stupid.

Except that he remembered Himura tossing in his delirium a few days ago, whispering something about eyes. Did he see the eyes of the dead? Did they too haunt him the way they haunt his dreams? 

"Oy, Kyosuke!"

He looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Hai!" One of his friends was beckoning for him.

"Come on over, we need your strength to move the boxes."

"Alright." As he followed his friend towards the road, he noticed a few of the Shishis checking all the downed soldiers. He heard a strangled sound from the side that was abruptly cut off. Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead, and away from the torn bodies of men caught up in the buried ceramic explosives. Half of the bodies lying too still were Ishin Shishi, men he had known. The hot wind was thick with the stench of gunpowder, fresh-spilled blood, and worse.

A few groups of men were poking and prodding at the shattered supply boxes scattered on the ground, trying to sort out the mess. Kanzaki was standing beside the largest of the convoy boxes, one that had miraculously escaped the explosives unharmed. It was the only one of its size, all the others were much smaller.

"…better be worth it, after all of this," one of the man was muttering sullenly. "We lost nearly half our numbers on this ambush, Kanzaki."

"Shut up," Kanzaki snapped succinctly, pulling at the wreckages. "Make yourself useful and help me with this."

Kyosuke edged in to help, tossing away broken pieces of planks. Straws littered the ground where the boxes had broken open. 

_Straws? The convoy must had been moving armors or weapons then. Only those warrant protection like this._

"Kanzaki-san!" A group working on another box stumbled over to them, two of them cradling a large piece of something in their hands. From the awkward way they move, it was something heavy. "Take a look at this!"

Kyosuke craned in his head curiously as Kanzaki uncovered the soft cloth tangled around the thing. The cloth caught his attention, being thick and fine, too high a quality to be used for covering goods. Then it fell away and Kyosuke stared along with the rest of the men. 

It was obviously a weapon – but like nothing Kyosuke had ever seen before. It looked like a cross between a small cannon and a gun, with a big barrel over two meters in length. Two slender handles protruded from the end of it, serving no obvious purpose that Ksyosuke could discern. Saw-dust and dirt slightly marred the polish of brand-new metalwork, but it still gleamed with a muted sinister sheen. He turned a questioning look at one of the men, who was looking a bit pale. The man shot Kyosuke a look and said in a hushed voice, "Gatling gun."

"Kami-sama..." he whispered in awed shock and fear.

He had heard the whispered second-hand tales of people who had come face-to-face with it and barely lived to tell the tale. He had never heard of gatling guns in seifu hands. 

But there had been rumors…

"How many of these did you find?"He heard Kanzaki asked the men roughly. 

"Et-to… five so far, but we haven't checked all of them yet."

Kanzaki ran a hand down the smooth metal, his remaining eye dark with thought. Then he turned and started pulling at the planks that made up the large box. 

"Everybody, help me with this." 

"But Kanzaki-san, what about…"

"Will you shut up and do as I say!"

Kyosuke was the only one close enough to hear Kanzaki talking from gritted teeth as they worked. 

"If they have the damn gatling gun… gods, I hope I'm wrong…"

One of the plank bent under Kyosuke's hands, then splintered with a crack. From the gap, the others were able to gain leverage, and soon one side of the box crashed down, revealing the content. 

Straw dust filled the air and Kyosuke coughed from the lungful of dusty air. His watery eyes could barely make out the large shape inside, something dark grey and filling the entire box from end to end. 

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Kanzaki, and a few outright gasps from the others. It had become very quiet all of a sudden. He blinked a few times and finally saw what the others did.

Longer even than the gatling-gun, a muzzle wider across than a man's width and more than half a meter across at the other end. All made of dark steel of the highest quality as thick as his wrist. It sat there cradled in the thick filings of straws, brooding and ominous in the shadows. It had none of the smooth elegance of the gatling-gun, not even the grace of a well-made rifle or revolver. It was a brute weapon made simply for smashing destruction.

This weapon, Kyosuke had seen before. Once. On the only glimpse he had had of an iron frigate, flying a red and blue flag. Lying on the straw, it looked clumsy without its wheel support. But he remembered the fire that had spat from its muzzle, and the devastation that had rained down from it.

An Armstrong Cannon.

He jumped as Kanzaki kicked the broken box hard. Their leader was breathing hard, his eyes a little wild. 

"How in...? This should be impossible... they promised... Those bastards!!"

They all stared at Kanzaki a bit fearfully. One of the men asked timidly, "K-Kanzaki-san?"

"Aa," he bit out, "Pack this all in and move them to the boats. Move quickly! We don't want to get caught by any reinforcements. And we sure don't want them to get these back, do we?"

"Hai!" All the men scattered hastily to right overturned boxes, collecting the scattered weapons from broken containers.

Gatling-gun. Armstrong Cannon. Iron Frigate. The three ultimate weapons of war. Everybody knew that Bakufu had tried everything to get them, but they had never succeeded. The westerners were quite zealous about keeping this bit of technology exclusive to themselves.

At least, until now. 

As he worked, he swallowed against the sick feeling in his stomach. His insides were roiling like it usually did, just before something bad would happen. The sky was bright and cloudless, but it felt like a storm was coming. Unanswered questions piled up in his mind until he

felt like bursting.

_Those weapons… why would they be here, in a secret shipment to nowhere? Who had sold this to the government? How many more are there?_

And the most important question of all, the question that turned his mouth dry -

_Will seifu start to use these against us ?_

***

Notes:

1. Japanese terms:

Iya = no

nandemonai = never mind / nothing

et-to = umm /err, delaying phrase

seifu = government, referring to the Shogunate here

kenkaku = swordsman

2. Guns (muskets and rifles) were already available to Japan since the 16th century, and has been used in the army for almost as long. The early models are single-shots, and not very reliable. But it's quite common to see soldiers equipped with rifles (thank you Serizawa Kamo-san!). Gatling guns and Armstrong cannons were a different matter though ^_^. And steam ships were very difficult to come by, although you could buy one or two from weapons merchants or black market. Shanghai was one such black market. When Takasugi Shinsaku went to Shanghai in 1862, he came back with a ship (obtained without permission from Choshu leaders ^_^, a big stink was raised over it).

[On to Chapter 7 : Interlude][1]

[mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk][2]

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/9810/Fanfic/DSBL7.html
   [2]: mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk



	8. Interlude

Chapter 7 : Interlude

Chapter 7 : Interlude

_--- Edo, Shogun's castle_

A golden koi broke the surface of the lavish man-made pond, shattering the tranquil mirror-perfect reflection of soaring towers and somber, sprawling edifices. Fins and scales glittering like true gold, the fish plunged back into the water with a subdued splash.

A man with snowy-white hair sat cross-legged on an ornamental red bridge spanning the far end of the large pond. A baby toddler in too-large clothes was playing by herself on the bridge behind him. Her large eyes were squinted in concentration as she tried to snag some cat-tails growing below the bridge, leaning rather precariously out of the safety of the bridge.

The man did not seem to notice though. His eyes were intent on a boy no more than twelve years of age. Floating on the surface of the water were pieces of planks, barely large enough to stand on. The boy was moving rapidly, stepping from one plank of wood to another in seemingly random selection. 

However, his movement was too graceful and fluid to be described as such. Rather, he seemed to _dance on the surface of the water, the half-submerged planks lending to the illusion. He never stayed in one place for long, long legs almost flickering as he flitted from one plank to the other, weight and balance perfectly controlled so not one step-point received enough force to sink. A kodachi was gripped in his right hand, the fine blue steel throwing flashes of quick-silver light as he spun it in an intricate kata of flowing movements. His still boyish face was drawn in intense concentration, unusual in one so young. _

The sitting man gave a small approving nod, lost on the distracted boy. A smile creased the man's wide mouth, and he quietly picked up a small stone. He waited until the boy was facing away from him, then in one smooth motion pitched the small projectile at the boy's back. 

The boy whirled around and his kodachi swung up in a blur that struck the stone away from his chest. But he could not compensate for the sudden motion and with a faint bitten-off yelp, his left leg plunged through the water, unbalancing him. He was saved from a humiliating dump into the water by some frantic hops that got both his feet down on the bottom of the waist-deep pond. But the inevitable splashing managed to get him quite thoroughly sopping wet. 

He wordlessly pulled his sodden ponytail away from his face and peered up through dripping bangs at the white-haired man, who was openly chortling. His mute gaze spoke of his protest quite succinctly. 

The person responsible for his dunking merely grinned unapologetically at the boy, wagging one finger mockingly. 

"You were doing the _Ryuusui no Ugoki very well. And I'll give you another bonus point for catching my stone. But if you lose your rhythm every time you defend against an unexpected attack, then you might as well be fish-food, Aoshi." _

Aoshi resignedly hitched himself out of the pond. From his weary acceptance, it would seem that pond-dunking was a fairly common occurrence.

"Hai, Okashira."

The 16th Okashira of Edo jo Oniwabanshuu, Makimachi Hayato, gave his favourite student a wide grin. 

"Maa, maa, don't be disappointed, you were doing the _Kenbu steps very well. If you keep on at the rate you're going, you'll soon master the combined water-flow steps and kodachi attacks. Maybe I can even start you on the Kodachi Niitou Ryuu before you're even fifteen." _

As he spoke, the man casually reached a hand behind him to snag the toddler who was just about to fall into the pond herself. The little girl wriggled unhappily in the old man's embrace, then she caught sight of Aoshi, dripping his way towards the bridge, and she broke into a delighted squeal.

Aoshi eyed her morosely as he knelt in front of Makimachi. "She's laughing at me."

"No, she's not," Makimachi retorted. "She's just always happy to see you, that's all. Naa, aren't you happy to see Aoshi-kun, Misao-chan?"

"Ao-chan! Ao-chan!" Misao-chan agreed loudly, all the while trying to wriggle herself out of Makimachi's grasp. 

"I wonder why she kept calling you that," Makimachi mused aloud, eyes glinting wickedly at the boy's rather pained look. 

"It's Hara-san," Aoshi replied with a carefully neutral face. "She and the others kept calling me –chan and Misao picked up on that."

"Ah-hah, and she can't pronounce Ao-Shi yet, can she?" Makimachi bounced Misao-chan lightly to get her attention and asked her in all seriousness, "Misao-chan. Can you say AO – SHI? A-O-SHI." He blithely ignored the owner of the name's indignant look. 

"Okashira, she really can't…"

"Ao-Chyan!! Ao-Chyan!!"  
  


"…say my name yet," Aoshi finished with a sigh.

"Ao-chyan Dai-suki!"

Makimachi laughed out loud, the deep sound resonating in the quiet garden. "Well, at least she got the first part right. I think we'll wait a while before letting her call you by your surname."

"She… tried," Aoshi carefully. It had been less than successful. In fact, it had been rather spectacularly un-successful. 

Misao-chan finally succeeded in wriggling herself out of Makimachi's arms, and she ran straight towards Aoshi. She ignored the uncomfortably wet clothes in the way very young children would and plunked herself on Aoshi's lap. She beamed up at Aoshi's rather embarassed face. 

"Ara!" Makimachi exclaimed in mock horror at the abandonment. "Misao-chan doesn't like Ojiichan?" the old man asked the toddler piteously, though his laughing eyes belied his tone.

Misao-chan chirped up brightly, "Jiichan, jiichyan suki-da!" But she did not let go of her grip on Aoshi's tunic.

"But Misao-chan like Aoshi-chan better, ne?"

Misao-chan nodded vigorously, her tiny heart-shaped face glowing with happiness,"Ao-chyan daisuki! Ao-chyan!" The young boy tried to maintain a stoic expression, but it was hard with a pair of tiny arms wrapped almost suffocatingly around his throat. 

The old man's face was one of artfully heart-broken expression, his voice wavering tremulously as he asked the little girl, "Misao-chan like Ao-chan more than she likes Ojiichan. Nobody wants Ojiichan anymore, Ojiichan is so sad..."

Misao-chan peered up from where her face was buried on Aoshi's chest and looked back and forth between her grandfather and Aoshi. Her tiny face was starting to scrunch up in distress, one hand letting go of Aoshi's tunic to reach towards her grandfather. "Ojiichyan daisuki! Ao-chyan daisuki." But she did not move from her position in Aoshi's lap. Aoshi looked at her apprehensively, awkwardness and embarassment warring with increasing alarm. He had some idea of where this would inevitably lead to.

Misao-chan's eyes were starting to tear up, and she finally wailed, "Ojiichyan _to Ao-chyan __to daisukiii!!!" Aoshi winced at her wail and clumsily tried to soothe the sobbing toddler by patting her back. _

Makimachi threw his head back and burst into deep-throated laughter, slapping his folded knees with merriment. Very few things could break the boy's almost unnatural composure, so the sight of him being completely overwhelmed by a two-year old toddler was very precious indeed. Little Misao had done more to draw young Aoshi out of his shell than any other person, and that effect was not exclusive to Aoshi alone. Her birth two years ago had been like a ray of light in the collective Oniwabanshu's normally quiet and still life. Like a breath of fresh wind and life. Even after the death of her parents. 

_Shinzo, Miharu, if you two could only see her now..._

A middle–aged plump woman emerged from the side wing, bearing some steaming tea cups. Her kindly face lit up at the scene. 

"Ara, Makimachi-sama, have you been teasing Misao-chan again ?" she asked her Makimachi with fond exasperation. 

"Why, Marida-san," Makimachi grinned back at her, "why do you always assume it's me? Aoshi is the one holding her right now."

Marida looked at the slightly flustered boy, trying his best to still the toddler's crying fit, with little success, and huffed slightly, "Aoshi-kun is too good a boy to make Misao cry, Makimachi-sama. It's her grandfather who always tease her into crying." She moved in swiftly and attempted to take the crying little girl into her arms. Or at least, she tried. 

Despite the sobs and hiccups that shook her whole tiny body, Misao's chubby fingers were firmly knotted into the fabric of Aoshi's wet suit. When Marida tried to pry her loose from Aoshi, Misao-chan emitted an indignant little cry and burrowed her face even deeper against Aoshi's chest. 

Makimachi roared again with laughter and Marida could not help but chuckle. A slight blush rose in Aoshi's normally expressionless face as he looked down helplessly at the tenacious toddler who seemed determined to become a permanent fixture to his body. 

"Ara, Aoshi-kun," Marida chuckled softly, "She doesn't seem to want to let go. If I force her, I'm afraid she'll just cry even harder. I'm so sorry, but would you be so kind as to carry Misao to her bed? It's time for her afternoon nap. She won't be stubborn if it's you putting her to bed, she always does listen to you best."

"..." Aoshi looked at Marida, his youthful face slightly doubtful. The silence elegantly questioned Misao-chan's ability to listen to _anyone. _

"Remember the last time I took her forcibly from you, Aoshi-kun ?"

Aoshi winced at that. 'the last time' was two days ago late at night. Misao-chan had stubbornly refused to sleep without him by her side. After she had fallen asleep, Marida had had to help him pry her fingers from where they were firmly wrapped around his hair. But somehow the sleeping little girl had realized what had happened. Her indignant shriek had woken up nearly the whole household that night.

Makimachi gleefully supplied, "That's my Misao-chan. She's born with a very healthy set of lungs, I'm sure she'll be a very strong little kunoichi when she grows up." 

"A bit too strong perhaps," Marida murmured with a slight smile. "Aoshi-kun?"

Aoshi gave a nearly inaudible sigh, yielding to the inevitable. "Okashira?" he asked softly.

Makimachi grinned at him, "Aa, go on. The training is over for today. Practice again by yourself, and I'll talk to you again later."

Aoshi bowed to him, his perfect gesture of respect slightly marred by the fact that he had a two-year-old toddler clinging to his chest. Misao-chan sighed contentedly and nestled more securely into his grip. Despite his wet clothes, Aoshi's departure was still as silent as ever. 

"They grew up so fast," Marida remarked wistfully. "It seems only yesterday that Shiori gave birth to Misao-chan. And has it really been six years since Aoshi-kun came to live with us?"

"Be careful, Marida-san," Makimachi replied cheerfully, "You're showing your age. Only old people talk about time flying past." 

"Yes, yes, and I guess *you* will always be thirty, won't you? You incorrigible old man." 

"That's right." Makimachi grinned at her. Aoshi and Misao had disappeared into the adjacent building. Makimachi Makimachi's face turned serious. Gone was the playful and relaxed mannerism, replaced instead with sombre gravity. 

"So, what's the news from Kyoto?"

Marida immediately picked up on her leader's change of mood. She pulled out a tiny letter tube from inside the hem of her kimono and passed it over to him with both hands. Makimachi Hayato uncapped it and rolled out the small thin parchment inside. For a while, all was silent as he read the thick scrawling on it. Then, he wordlessly passed it over to Marida.

Marida's eyes went wider as she read the coded message. "This is… Makimachi-sama!"

Makimachi Hayato got up and walked out to the pond-side, staring down at the now placid water.

"…Okashira."

"…well, I've been expecting something like this to come to my hand for the last six years. And here it is."

Marida gazed at Makimachi's back, the deceptively relaxed posture still betraying signs of tenseness to her eyes. In her heart she ached with… pain… pity…resignation, and a sense of inevitability.

"I will prepare for your journey to Kyoto, then," she murmured. 

Makimachi nodded, his back still towards her. "Thank you."

"Are you taking any others with you?"

"…No."

Marida looked down. "What about Aoshi-kun?"

"He'll be fine here. This is a good chance for him to try taking over some of the responsibilities. He'll need a lot of leadership training. For the future."

"…that's not what I meant."  
  


"I know, Marida." Makimachi's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Marida said nothing more. She bowed to him once, formally, then left the garden with the quiet steps of a trained omnitsu.

Makimachi sighed once and gazed up at the clear blue sky. 

"What needs to be done… will be done. There is no going around this one, is there?"

The heaven gave him no answers. 

***

--- Outskirts of Kyoto, 3 days later

"Come on, people, our resting place is right over there. Walk faster, or it'll be dark before we ever get there."

A few half-hearted groans answered Kanzaki's order. Kyosuke replaced the straw hat he'd been fanning himself with back on his head and obediently got off the ground. The other men in their little group followed far less willingly, accompanied by a lot ofgroaning and complaining.

Their destination could be seen from here, a sprawling house complex nestled to the forested mountainside that spread over more ground than Kyosuke would ever have believed possible. He had seen entire villages smaller than that. Before he came to Kyoto, he would never have believed such wealth existed -- and just how big a difference there could be between the rich and the poor.

He hefted the thick wooden pole that he and another man was responsible for carrying, and heard the other fellow grunted with the weight of it. The sturdy basket in the middle looked no different than any other baskets that farmers habitually use to carry their products to markets. And the surface of it was indeed piled with leafy vegetables to ward off inspection. But this basket, and the other two identical baskets carried by his little group of men, contained something far heavier than any market produce. 

Something far more dangerous.

It had been a week since they had ambushed the supply troupe. By the time anyone came to investigate the late troupe, they had long since moved the precious boxes downstream by boats. The numerous rivers around Kyoto were a very useful form of transportation. They had hid the weapons in a secure place, then Kanzaki had called on a few men to bring a sample to show to their leaders. Kyosuke had been one of them. 

It still took until sunset for them to arrive at the mansion. The gatekeeper recognized Kanzaki immediately and they were ushered in to the kitchen. The concealing vegetables were all taken out, the shining western rifles and the ominous gatling gun that kept giving Kyosuke the chills were all placed in one closed basket. Then Kanzaki motioned for Kyosuke to follow him. 

They padded through the covered walkways between buildings, Kyosuke gawking unashamedly at the exquisite gardens, ponds, and the rich paneling of the buildings. This was his first time here, although he had heard of it. The mansion was a mountain retreat of a rich merchant who was heavily involved with the Ishin movement, although that fact was not well known. They passed servants on the way who eyed the two men dubiously, but Kanzaki breezed through them without a glance. Kyosuke followed more self-consciously, acutely aware of his dirty farmer's clothing. 

Kanzaki stopped in front of a room guarded by two samurais, one of which knocked on the wooden panel deferentially. 

A soft voice called from the inside, "Come in."

The shoji was slid aside and they shuffled inside, Kyosuke keeping his eyes down respectfully. 

"Ah, good to see you back and well, Kanzaki-kun. We've received your message three days ago, good work."

Kyosuke peered up to see a grey-haired old man sitting beside Katsura Kogoro. The man was small in stature, with wispy white beard and mustache. But despite his slight build and age, there was an aura of contained power and authority in him, hidden within an air of serenity. 

And sitting across from them...

Kyosuke blinked in shock and blurted without thinking, "Himura?!"

The redheaded youth lifted his head to look at Kyosuke. Something flickered in his eyes and the corner of his lips seemed to curve in the slightest smile that disappeared as his gaze swept over Kanzaki. He nodded to the other man, face blank, "Kanzaki-san."

Kanzaki gave Kyosuke a quelling look and nodded back to Himura just as coolly. "Himura." Then he turned and bowed deeply to his leaders, "Aizawa-san, Katsura-san, I'm back."

_Aizawa-san? Ah, Aizawa Shigenobu. Kyosuke had never met him before, but every Choshu Ishin Shishi knew his name. He was one of the eldest and foremost factual leaders of Choshu Ishin Shishi, with strong personal followera among the Shishis. He, Katsura-san, and Ieda-san were the three single most influential men among the Choshu faction Shishi. But the rumours whispered among the lower ranks said that not all was well between the three men. _

Kanzaki was motioning for the basket now. Kyosuke forced his mind away from the disturbing track and helped the other man to unload the weapons inside. He lifted the gatling gun out and heard a sharp intake of breath. Katsura-san was staring fixedly at the gun. 

"Let me see that..."

He took the bulky weapon from Kyosuke's hands. Both Aizawa and Himura were watching raptly, Himura's eyes acquiring that wintry glint that was part of Hitokiri Battousai's reputation. 

Katsura-san turned the weapon over in his hands, running his hands over the thick multiple barrels. "I've never seen this one before," he murmured, "it's most probably the latest type."

Aizawa turned towards Kanzaki. "What about that cannon?"

Kanzaki lowered his head towards Aizawa, "Hai. As said before, it was too heavy to move around, so I put it in one of our hiding places. I've checked it over, but I'm afraid I don't know much about gaijins' weapons. I understand Katsura-san is sending someone to go and look it over."

"Oh?" 

Katsura calmly answered Aizawa's questioning look, "Sakamoto-san was in the vicinity. I sent a quick letter to him to take a detour and have a look at the Armstrong cannon. He knows the gaijins and their weapons far better than we do, he'll be able to inform us better. I'm expecting him to come here soon, today or in the next few days."

"Sakamoto Ryoma…ka?" Aizawa leaned back, sighing heavily. "They weren't supposed to sell these," he murmured almost to himself. "No frigates, no Armstrong cannons, no gatling-guns - that is the rule all sides follow."

"Followed." Katsura-san's gaze was dark as he looked at his fellow leader. "Someone had broken the rule. Just as predicted, things are going to change very soon. It would seem it had already started."

"We'll have to discuss this further." Aizawa nodded towards Kanzaki and Kyosuke. "Thank you, this is a very important discovery indeed. Make sure that it does not spread."

Kanzaki bowed to him, "Hai, I've already warned all of my men. They won't say anything." Then recognizing the unspoken order, he pulled Kyosuke along with him to the exit. Himura gave the two Ishin leaders a bow then followed them out of the room.

Kyosuke kept his mouth shut until they had walked far enough not to disturb their leaders, then he burst out, "Himura! What are you doing here? I thought you'd still be in that village I left you in. You can't have recovered, it's not even two weeks yet!"

Himura looked at him blandly. "I'm fine, I arrived shortly before you did. I was doing nothing useful there. Besides, we're short-handed enough as it is."

The younger man did still have some road dust on his clothes and skin. He also still looked rather pale, and Kyosuke knew him well enough to recognize the faint tightness around his eyes and mouth as signs of pain.

Before he could say anything else, Kanzaki interrupted, "Kyosuke, go to the dining room and have something to eat. I'll get the others." He left without another look at Himura.

_Still like that. Kyosuke looked at Himura, but the younger man's face was blank, the expressionless mask he wore among others firmly in place._

"Let's go," Himura murmured.

***

Kenshin walked the familiar path to the dining room. He had been to this place a few times, accompanying Katsura-san or some of the other Ishin leaders. The room was half full with a dozen or so men, bodyguards and followers of the visiting leaders. He recognized less than half of them. The faces changed often, a roster of men replaced by numerous others. After the first few times, he no longer searched for the missing people. Most of them would be dead. He knew that the next time he visited, the faces would change again. It was one reason he never made any deep relationship with any of them. One among many.

As he and Kyosuke walked in, faces turned around to scrutinize them with the narrowed, clinical eyes of men who were trained to miss little. Most recognized Kyosuke and brightened, calling out to him with warm familiarity. His friend replied back in kind and was soon engaged in a conversation with a group of men. The few who recognized Kenshin nodded and murmured subdued greetings. He nodded back, returning their greetings. None asked him to join them. 

Once he had settled himself in a table near a corner, the whisperings began. He ignored them as he always did, pretending not to see the covert glances thrown his way. They would be mortified if they knew he could still hear them, but he did not need to tell them that. 

_"Is that...?"_

_ _

_"Battousai?"_

_ _

_"Cross scar and reddish hair, what do you think?"_

_ _

_"THE hitokiri Battousai?"_

_ _

_"Aa. Stop gawking like an idiot."_

_ _

_"But... he's younger than me!"_

_ _

_"He's younger than most, don't speak so loudly. You think he's deaf?"_

_ _

_"... thought he'd be bigger."_

_ _

_"Heh, morons."_

_ _

_"You know him?"_

_ _

_"Of course. He comes here often, 'course I know him."_

_ _

_"You and your big-mouth. He's bluffing, didn't even talk two sentences with him."_

_ _

_"Is he as good as they say?"_

_ _

_"..."_

_ _

_"Better."_

_ _

_"You're kidding me."_

_ _

_"If you're lucky enough, or unlucky enough, you'll see for yourself."_

Kyosuke took his place beside Kenshin and nudged him with an elbow, whispering softly, "They're talking about you again."

Kenshin scowled at his rice bowl, "Ignore them. I do."

Kyosuke merely grinned. "By the way, my friends there told me some of the guys that came over. I think you may want to know that..."

The entrance was suddenly pushed open hurriedly. The whispered conversations died as heads once again turned towards the door. A young man in his mid-teens, still with gangly limbs barely maturing into adulthood, stood panting outside. His wide expressive eyes, set on a face too young to have even a shadow of stubbles yet, searched the room until they found Kyosuke and Kenshin. His face brightened with delight.

"Himura-san! You're here!"

Kyosuke finished in a rather dry tone, "...that Eiji is here."

Kenshin swallowed an overwhelming urge to groan and thump his head on the table. Kawasaki Eiji was one of Kanzaki's men, one of the newest and youngest. They had met a few times, went on one mission together. He was a good person, and it wasn't that he was not glad the young man was still alive. It was just that...

Eiji rushed to their table and firmly seated himself beside Kenshin. "Himura-san, I'm so glad you're alright. I heard about your duel with Captain Okita Souji of Shinsengumi. Sugoi! Did you beat him? Ne? Of course you did, Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is unbeatable. Ne, will you teach me this time? Just one stroke, just Ryu-tsui-sen is enough. Hontou... Aa, are you alright, Himura-san?"

Kenshin had closed his eyes in despair. That urge to thump his head was becoming really strong now. Beside him, Kyosuke was trying his best to hide his amusement and failing miserably. 

He seriously doubted that he would get any peace on this trip. 

***

Back in the inner room, as soon as the sound of footsteps faded to nothing, Aizawa Shigenobu turned towards Katsura. 

"Yahari," Aizawa sighed, "it's coming to this."

Katsura nodded, "I've long since warned those back in our han of the dangers. Shinsaku saw this coming before I did. Him and Sakamoto Ryoma."

"Who do you think sold them to the government?" 

The younger man was silent for a moment before replying with a sigh, "Most probably France. All those news we've received - increased weapons imports, relaxed trade restrictions, preferential treatments… I think we can safely confirm that France will be strongly supporting Bakufu. All the way."

He continued without looking at Aizawa, "Everybody's taking sides now."

Aizawa gazed at the younger man thoughtfully. "Kogoro… what are you trying to say?"

Silence. Then –

"Have you decided about what we discussed last week, Aizawa-sensei?"

Aizawa's face was a tranquil mask as he lifted his cup of tea and sipped slowly from it. "You mean… your proposal for alliance with Satsuma-han."

He shook his head with a dry smile. "You and Shinsaku dropped that particular news on top of my head after you've already discussed it with Saigo Takamori and Okubo Toshimitchi. Have I told you how much I did not appreciate that?"

Katsura actually looked slightly uncomfortable, a rare occurrence that would have left his men in a state of disbelief.

"Yes, sensei, and I am sorry about that. But truth be told, that was a very delicate matter, and the less people involved the better. At the time, we did not even know if anything would come out of it. And the timing…" he trailed off, looking rather discomfited. 

Aizawa nodded. "You know that a great lot of people are going to jump all over you if they catch a whiff of this?"

"I know."

"They will not be thinking of the benefits the alliance will bring. They will be thinking of the massacre of three thousand of our men by Bakufu and Satsuma soldiers in _Kinmon no hen_. They will be thinking of Satsuma soldiers leading the Bakufu attack on our han last year."

"They will be thinking of lives lost, pride trampled, and revenge to be taken."

Katsura met Aizawa's eyes. "And if we give in to that, we will be driven and defeated - our lands and power taken away, restrictions shackled around us to keep us cowed and manageable."

Aizawa smiled at that. "True."

"The same old argument, Aizawa-sensei. United we are stronger and a match for Bakufu. Alone and warring against each other, we have no chance whatsoever. It took me years to accept that." Katsura's tone held a hidden bitterness. "And it was not a lesson that I accept easily. Or willingly. But fact is fact, and you were the one who taught me that the way of the world did not change to accommodate a person's personal feelings."

"No matter how much it galled, that we are not strong enough to do this by ourselves, that we have to be allied with _Satsuma… it is still the only way that gives us a possibility of victory."_

"You have given this a lot of thought." Aizawa sighed heavily before turning towards Katsura with a weary smile. "I suppose I need to know if you have thought out the whole chain of consequences this will bring. And if you are prepared to face it."

Katsura held the older leader's eyes evenly. "I am willing to put my life on the line for this."

"And so you shall, Kogoro. So you shall." Aizawa shook his head. "My advice to you… keep that young hitokiri beside you at all times. You never know when the hidden arrows will start flying. At least you know that that boy will not turn on your back."

"Arigatou, sensei. Then…?"

Aizawa chuckled softly. "All right… What is done is done. I trust your judgment and Shinsaku's – after all, I did watch you two grow to fill your current positions. And who knows, this alliance is probably the best for all concerned."

  
Katsura smiled slightly. "I am glad. No… I am very relieved, sensei. Your support will be invaluable to us." 

"Ah yes, you need me to offset Ieda's influence, hmm?" Aizawa remarked wryly, sipping his tea again. "He will not be pleased when he hears this. You can't keep this quiet forever, Kogoro."

Katsura nodded. "I know. I don't intend to. I will come out with this in the upcoming meeting." 

"How far along is it?"

"It is just a financial arrangement at the moment, but if it works, then more things can be done based on this solid foundation."

"This arrangement…," Aizawa peered up at Katsura from half-lidded eyes, "it will not by any means involve… the British gaijin. Will it?"

Katsura had been half expecting the question, which was why he was able to keep a bland expression on his face. "Why do you say that, sensei?"

"Why… oh, a little bit of hearsay, here and there… maybe just an old man's overactive imagination from sleepless nights…" Aizawa's sharp eyes belied his relaxed tone. "Or maybe, they're simply groundless rumors…no?"

Katsura chose his reply carefully. "I will never do anything that will harm our country. I believe that my desire to see our people prosper is as strong as anyone, and if it takes my whole life, I will see that we will be as strong and powerful as any gaijin country. I will see that we will never have to bow down to foreign pressures again."

Aizawa observed him with shrewd eyes. Katsura had not truly answered the question he had asked, but it was obvious the younger man was not going to elaborate. 

"Maa… I'll take your answer. For now." Aizawa carefully rose to his feet. "I have another meeting in the inner city, so let's stop here. We'll talk again soon, naa? I trust you will keep me informed of the latest developments from hereon?"

"Of course." 

Just before leaving, Aizawa turned and said, "Remember my warning about being careful, Katsura. I'd hate to see one of my most talented kohai falling down before he accomplishes what he promises." Aizawa pushed open the sliding door, and one of the samurai standing guard stood up and left with him. 

Leaving Katsura alone in the room with his thoughts.

***

"Eiji, I've told you before I don't teach Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu, not ever. Stop asking me, the answer won't change."

Eiji's youthful face was so downcast that Kenshin could not help feeling guilty. Even if he was doing the right thing. 

Kyosuke patted Eiji on the back, grinning in commiseration. "Don't look so down, Eiji-kun. It's not the end of the world. I thought you already had a few others teaching you?"

"Well...yes, but it's not the same. Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is the best, even Katsura-san said so. And Himura-san is the strongest kenkaku among us." The eyes that Eiji turned towards Kenshin was positively glowing with hero-worship. Kenshin almost flinched. He could not understand the boy's fixation on him at all. All he did was kill people and saved the boy half by accident. But since then Eiji had been following him around with those big trusting eyes.

"Maa, maa...even if he won't teach the skills, I'm sure Himura wouldn't mind giving a few pointers. Ne, Himura?"

Kenshin glared at Kyosuke who was grinning at him unashamedly. He was sure free with someone else's time. He wondered if sparring with Kyosuke had been such a good idea after all. Ever since he started giving a few advices to Kyosuke, the older man had been a little too quick to offer other people his help. 

Eiji's expression had turned ecstatic as he waited for Kenshin's reply. As the silence stretched on, he began to wilt.

_Why do I feel like I've kicked a puppy?_

With a sigh, Kenshin gave up. "All right, show me your moves and I'll tell you a few things." He hurriedly held up his hand before Eiji could misunderstand. "But I am NOT your teacher, and I'm NOT teaching you Hiiten Mitsurugi."

"HAI, Himura-san!" Eiji crowed, "Wait for me please, I'll get my sword right away."

"Wait, wait, wait!" To Kenshin's surprise, Kyosuke held on to Eiji before the young man could run off inside. "Not today, Eiji-kun. Tomorrow. Himura just got here today, he needs to rest for a while."

"Oh." Eiji blinked. "Right." He turned back towards Kenshin. "Himura-san, why don't you have a soak in the hot-spring pool? Do you know they have their own private spring pool here? Hontou ni sugoi-yo! Aa, I forgot, you've been here before right? You must know. They said it's got healing properties, I'm sure it'll help you relax."

"Eiji!" A shout drifted from the back courtyard. A man holding a yari wandered around a corner and waved to Eiji. "Come on, we're starting to practice at the hall! Are you coming?"

"Coming! I'm fetching my sword!" Eiji shouted back, then grinned at Kenshin and Kyosuke. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Himura-san, Kyosuke-san. It's a promise." He pelted back into the house, running full-speed down one corridor.

Kenshin stared at the direction Eiji had disappeared to. "Where does he get his energy? I feel tired just watching him."

"Is the Master of Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu so easily tired?" Kyosuke teased him, grinning. "Maybe the master is not as recovered from his injuries as he said."

Kenshin muttered, "The Master of Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu is currently off drinking sake somewhere in the mountains. And _this practitioner of Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu was never trained to ward off over-eager student candidates."_

Eiji re-appeared from the corridor, holding his katana both-handed. He disappeared around the corner to the house, then popped back around to wave at them, grinning and shouting like a boy, "Ashita, ne? Himura-san!" Then he was off.

Kenshin turned a despairing glance at Kyosuke, "Dear gods... please tell me I was never like that."

Kyosuke's eyes were dancing with amusement, "Like what?"

Kenshin struggled for words, "Like... like..."

"You mean bubbly? Talkative? Happy? Puppy-dog eager?"

Kenshin shook his head helplessly. "Forget I said anything," he muttered. 

"He's not that much younger than you, you know. He's fifteen."

Kenshin stared at the direction Eiji had disappeared to. "Fifteen," he repeated wonderingly. It did not feel like a one-year difference. More like ten or twenty years, perhaps. At fifteen, he had married, loved, lost. At fifteen, his hands were already stained with more blood than he could ever wash away. Beside Eiji, he felt old. 

With a sigh, he turned towards the hot spring bathhouse. While he was here, he might as well took advantage of the fine facilities provided. 

"I'm going for a bath."

"Eh? Oh, I'll take one later, some of the guys invited me to after-dinner sake. Come with me?"

Kenshin waved a hand at him as he walked away. "No, have fun."

***

Notes:  
  
1. Ryuusui no Ugoki = Kenbu = Aoshi's water-flow steps/movements. After reading the answers to my question, I have a better idea of what it is, but no recommendation on an appropriate training technique for it ^_^;. So I put this one in, but if any of you feel it's inappropriate or there's a better one, by all means write to me, I'll be extremely grateful (always on the hunt for more authenticity ^^). And since I'm no expert in baby-talk... help with the Misao-chan part? ^_^;  
  
2. Kinmon no hen - I put this in end of chapter 5, but. July 1864, it was in the manga and the OVA, when Kyoto burned for 3 days. 3,000 Choshu soldiers attacked Kyoto for revenge against the slaughter in Ikedaya Inn. Bakufu army, including Satsuma forces, numbered 80,000 - you can guess the result ^^;;;  
  


3. Age: For clarity, I'm including their ages in August 1865 –

Misao was born on Nov 1863 = almost 2 years old ^-^ 

Aoshi was born on Jan 1853 = 12 yrs old

But the Japanese and Chinese traditionally add 1 year to their age, so you can do that.

  
4. And just to avoid confusions - Aizawa Shigenobu is a fictional character ^_^;. Anybody whom I'm not mentioning in the Notes are going to be fictional unless said otherwise.  
  
5. Japanese words:  
- daisuki = like (someone) very much  
- 'to' = and/also  
- shoji = the rice-paper panels in Japanese houses that act as walls and doors  
- kenkaku = swordsman  
- honto ni sugoi-yo = really very incredible  
- ashita = tomorrow  
  
6. Kanji for names:  
- Hayato - 'haya' = eagle, 'to' = person/man (thanks to Serizawa Kamo-san for allowing me to use the same name forMisao's grandpa ^_^)  
- Arashi = storm  
  


[On to Chapter 8 : Interlude II][1]

[mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk][2]

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/9810/Fanfic/DSBL8.html
   [2]: mailto:dewinaga@yahoo.co.uk



	9. Dissonance

Chapter 8 : Dissonance

**Chapter 8: Dissonance**

The outdoor hot spring pool was blessedly deserted. Kenshin laid his neatly folded clothes and swords on the edge of the rock pool, within reaching distance. Long hair loose from the usual ponytail and dripping wet from the washing, he slowly lowered his body into the hot spring water. He could not help a small sigh of pleasure as he leaned against the stone rim, the steaming water reaching up to his chest. Tightly wound muscles that he no longer even noticed started to unwind, the heat from the spring seeping inside to thaw the chill in his bones that he thought would never leave. 

His body still ached from the two days of traveling to reach this place. In the past, it would have taken him less than a day. He suspected he had not fooled Kyosuke as to his condition. The sensei who checked him would have a fit if he knew he had already gone back to work, would have insisted that he was not yet fit for any exertions. But he had had enough of staying alone in that fishing hut. In the emptiness of time, his thoughts kept turning to the past, and that was not someplace he wanted to be. 

He critically examined his newest scars. There was a rather rugged mass of scar tissue on his right flank, uneven flesh that had healed poorly where the stitching had been torn open and re-sewn. It was still red and raw looking. He would have to be careful not to exert himself too much for a while. In comparison, the sword slash had healed more cleanly. The long wound had closed to a thin trail of pink raised flesh that ran just below his left shoulder, extending along his upper arm. 

He habitually flexed that arm, testing it. There was barely a twinge. His body healed fast, a gift in his line of work. There were older scars on his back and shoulders that had faded nearly to nothing, slash and puncture wounds that had nearly taken his life eight months ago. 

He had long since ceased to care about wounds and the scars they left. There was only one exception to that. The important thing was that they would not detract from his skills, and aside from the slight stiffness of unstretched new flesh, these scars were inconsequential. 

The hardest wounds to heal were not the physical ones.

Steam wafted up in a cloud of fog, misting up the view of the surroundings. It gave the false illusion of privacy, of being cocooned in one's own private world, where the only person who exist was oneself. The night was silent with only the occasional rustling of leaves and the calls of night birds. Soft ripples and splashes of water against the rock rim provided a rhythmic, soothing background. The rest of the world was still waiting out there, but for the moment, this blessed solitude was enough. 

He sank deeper into the pool, neck-deep in the water and half-floating in the warmth. He tilted his head up to look up at the stars partially obscured by the rising mist. 

The stars looked the same now as it had a year ago, two years ago, constant and unchanging as ever. He had watched them countless times with his parents on their last summer together, with Hiko just before the fight that had led him down the mountains. Again, the day before he left for Kyoto with Katsura Kogoro, and on that blessedly peaceful and seemingly endless night with Tomoe in their little house. 

The stars remained the same, but he had changed. 

Kyosuke's words today about Eiji had struck a chord inside him. Only one year difference, but Eiji was full of... _innocence. That was the only word that he could think of. Eiji had come from a fairly well-to-do merchant family, and as far as he knew, the boy had lived a relatively peaceful life before he had joined in the Ishin movement. It showed in his careless smiles, in the lightness of his steps, the unfeigned exuberance that he treated the rest of the world with._

He marveled at it, but he did not envy the younger boy. He had long decided that innocence required far too high a price to keep. He could not afford to pay that price. Not when it was weighed against the lives of others. 

The day he consciously made the decision to take up a fallen sword too big for his hands had been the day he threw away the last vestiges of his childhood. Oh, he did not have to kill back then, if that was even possible. And fate had interfered to lend him another lease on life. But physical acts aside, he had been willing to kill, and it was all that mattered. 

To kill to protect. 

A very pragmatic solution to a savage world. He had accepted the necessity since the day he had watched bandits massacred the slavers and slaves with similar abandon, since three girls who had barely begun their lives sacrificed themselves to protect him. It was engraved into him by their blood and he had understood it with the kind of bone-deep understanding that had shaped his decisions and his life ever since. 

He did not like it, but he accepted it. That was the way it was. 

Which was why when Hiko Seijurou had offered to teach him that very art of killing, the choice was a foregone conclusion. 'Shinta' was cast aside and re-born as a swordsman, as 'Ken-Shin'. Hiko Seijurou had known more than he did at that time, what the name change had truly meant. 

And when he could no longer stand aside and watch the world fell apart, he had left the mountains and he had left Hiko Seijurou. 

He stared blindly at the shifting mist, remembering another bone-cold morning mist surrounding the mountain hut that had become his home for four years and the man who had become almost like a father to him. Remembering harsh words thrown at his teacher on their last day together – _what good is a sword kept in its sheath? Wasn't the whole reason he had thrown his soul into learning Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu was to save the defenseless? To prevent anymore tragedies like Sakura, Akane, and Kasumi from happening. Preventing another boy from watching people he cared for butchered. _

The world had been black and white then. So simple, so clear… and so far away from the reality that he had come face to face with. He sighed, feeling the weariness that had dragged at him for the last two years. 

To create a new world, we must break down the old…

Katsura-san's words, on the day he had asked him to kill for the sake of a new world. Inevitably, deaths were necessary to bring in change. He was well aware that the root of the revolution that they were trying to bring about would bring about destruction of the old world. And yet, there was no point in holding on to a world that brought pain and misery to so much of its own people. A world that belonged to the past, a world that would kill off hope for the future was better off destroyed.

And to do that, he was willing to kill. He had chosen to become a tool for the revolution, to become its killing edge, the part that reached out and destroyed lives to open the road for the new world. If killing the officials could expedite the new era, then it should be done. If they needed someone to kill, then he would kill. That had been the reason he had taken up the mantle of hitokiri. It was the only skill he had, this sword, this body... He had no other skills to offer, other than a burning desire to help make a difference. 

And yet, for all the perfect reasoning that he had made to himself, he had neglected a very crucial part out of the equation. 

He had forgotten that the enemy was also living, breathing human beings. 

Hiding behind the shield that was Tenchu, he had consigned their deaths in the name of necessity. And all the while the people that he had cut down had been no different than himself, no different than the very people he had envisioned himself protecting. 

On that piece of frozen hell eight months ago, he had been shown with cutting, bone-deep clarity, how naïve and simplistic his views and beliefs had been. His world had shattered and nothing looked the same anymore. 

The enemy had faces now, and they haunted his dreams and conscience. 

_How long can I go on killing?_

_ _

_*How long will you go on killing*?_

_ _

With a jolt, he opened his eyes. He blinked at the mist that blurred his eyesight. Then the barest of smile curved his lips, a strange mixture of resigned self mockery and bitter-sweet pain. The parody of a smile did not reach his clouded eyes.

Tomoe. How strange it was that she had become the voice of his conscience. Or maybe, not that strange at all. After all, she was the one who reminded him of what he had chosen to blind himself to. Her voice was always there, a reminder to him. And he could not block this voice away. Could not. Would not. Because blocking her out would mean blocking out everything that had happened between them, and he could not do that. 

This life that he still lived belonged to her. She did not kill him even when he had tacitly offered his life to her. Forgiven him even when he deserved no forgiveness. 

And so, he had promised her, he would find a way. Swore it on her silent form, the white funereal garb he clothed her in hiding the horrible wound his own hands had given her. 

But had he?

He made a choice eight months ago to go on living, to go back with Katsura-san and back into the madness of Kyoto. He told Katsura-san that he would protect people now, help people. That it was what she would wish from him, and what he himself wished from the deepest part of his soul. 

And yet, here he was, with more blood staining his hands. Still a man-slayer, even if he was no longer a hitokiri living in the shadows. 

Everything had changed. Nothing had changed. 

Kenshin closed his eyes, feeling the leaden weight in his chest that grew heavier with each day. 

_*You know what is happening.* _

_Yes_, he replied to that soft voice in his head_. _Yes, I know, but what can I do? Tell me, what can I do?__

The voice was silent, offering no solutions, no way out. 

_I know what each death means now, what the value of each life is. But still, I kill. I wonder, is that not in itself a form of madness?_

He killed more people now than he ever did acting as a hitokiri. Everyday, he struggled with a mind-numbing paradox – that by trying to save, he killed, causing the very thing that he fought to prevent. He could feel the rift growing between what he did and what he *_knew* -- and it was slowly tearing him apart. _

It showed in each sleepless night, still preferable to the dreams and nightmares that plagued his rest. It was there, no matter how much he consciously avoided thinking about it, no matter how much he drove himself into exhaustion to escape the turmoil that clawed into his mind and heart.

His eyes were open now, and he could not go back to the oblivious comfort of before. His eyes were open - and times were, he felt they would burn and blind him with all that he saw and did. 

And the question that twisted inside him, fueling his indecision and uncertainties.

_Had he truly accomplished anything?_

Were they truly taking a closer towards the dream of new world, or was he merely creating more misfortunes on this world? Had two years of endless murders and butcheries been for nothing? 

He had long since ceased looking too closely at himself, but despite all the inner walls he hid behind, he could feel the life trickling out of him, draining his emotions, his feelings, vibrancy... darkening his idealism... until he felt like a walking husk, mechanically executing moves ingrained into his body, with as little thought as a clockwork. 

How much longer before there was nothing left inside of him?

Those five months in the mountain had felt like a breath of fresh air to him, yet it felt like a dream now. With each day, it lost more of its vitality, like a painting that grew faded with time and lost its vibrancy and life. The memories of warm contentment and happiness of that time bled out of him with each passing day. Maybe one day he would forget it completely.

Nothing but a passing dream.

He found the fingers of his hand pressing into the white cross-scar on his left cheek, the callused tips digging hard as if they would tear into the flesh.

_I missed the dream…_

_ _

_I missed you…_

_ _

_I need you, Tomoe._

"What an indulgent picture you make, Battousai-san."

Kenshin's eyes flew open in shock. He shot out of the water, left hand grabbing for his katana. 

"Dare-ka!"

A tall, lithe form separated itself from the shadow of trees in front of him. The slight illumination cast by the lanterns showed a young man in his early twenties. He was dressed in dark blue gi neatly closed in front against the chill, and a matching set of dark blue haori and hakama. The man was no one Kenshin had ever seen before. Kenshin's eyes narrowed as he tried to feel the stranger's presence. His clothing was not that inconspicuous, how could he have missed him? 

Shock filled him as he couldn't feel a thing. Not a ripple of ki that marked a living, breathing man or animal. Everything living had ki, which meant that the man in front of him must had mastered the ability to hide his ki completely. He'd heard of this skill from his shishou, but it was incredibly rare and hard to master. Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu had something equivalent, to be used when its master wished to dampen down his ken-ki for some reasons. But to eliminate ki to this extent, and that excellent shadow skill...

"You're a ninja. Whose?"

The stranger raised one thin, elegant brow. He was a slender man with a face that could only be described as beautiful, framed by neatly short raven-black bangs. His hair was almost as long as Kenshin's and he tied it up in a high ponytail, kept tight with a silver clasp that was the only light in his whole attire. Full lips curved up in a half-smile that was mirrored in a twisted reflection by the cold gray eyes. 

"I belong to no one. Who's _your master, Hitokiri Battousai?"_

Kenshin paused, not expecting a counter question. The other man's voice was a smooth baritone, not one he'd heard before among the masked omnitsus working for Choshu Ishin Shishi. 

"Don't play games with me. Who are you?"

The stranger tilted his head to one side, his smile widening as he deliberately looked up and down Kenshin's body.

"You do realize that you're standing there naked, don't you?"

That remainder brought home the realization that he was standing in a barely waist-high water, without a single stitch on his body. A small part of him which still cared about such things reacted to that, sending a slight flush to his cheeks. But the cold, intense concentration that came with the hitokiri's mind-set easily pushed the distraction aside. 

"Your name," he grounded out coldly, "or I'll hit first and ask questions later."

"Violent," the stranger murmured lightly, "your reputation precedes you." His smile widened as Kenshin's body tensed further, fingers tightening on the hilt of his katana. "But, since I've already known your name...fair is fair." He dropped Kenshin a formal bow, the small twisted smile on his face making a mockery of it, "Hajimemashite, Hitokiri Battousai. You can call me Arashi."

Kenshin frowned at that. _Arashi. __Storm. "That's not your real name."_

"But it is all that I will give you," the person calling himself Arashi retorted. "Or are you going to try to force it out of me, Battousai-san? I'll warn you first you'll have a hard time doing it."

Kenshin's face remained impassive as his thoughts churned. Enemy, or ally? He seemed completely at ease here, which seemed to indicate that he was working for Ishin Shishi. But the hostile attitude...

A soft patter of footsteps sounded from behind him, a familiar pattern. _Kanzaki. _

"Himura, did you... Ah, Arashi, there you are. Katsura-san is looking for you."

The young omnitsu did not look away from Kenshin as he answered, "Just enjoying the quiet night, Kanzaki-san."

"Sou-ka...," Kanzaki looked back and forth at the two men facing each other, a lop-sided smile quirking his mouth, "This is the first time you two have met, isn't it? Well, Himura, meet Arashi. You can drop the sword, he's one of us."

Kenshin slowly lowered his still sheathed katana, keeping his eyes on Arashi. Ishin Shishi he might be, but ki or no ki, he could still sense the hostility coming off from the other man. Kenshin got off the hot-spring pool and started pulling on his clothes. To his consternation, Arashi kept gazing at him the whole time, the small smile on his lips aggravating him. 

He had to let go of his katana to dress, but he'd be damned if he'd let his guard down with a man he did not trust within reaching distance. 

"Weren't you called?" he said pointedly, not bothering to be polite. 

Kanzaki smirked and motioned laconically at Arashi with his head, "Come on, you're making him nervous. You really don't want a nervous hitokiri at your back." The last was delivered in a darker undertone. Kenshin did not react outwardly, but inside he flinched. 

_He still remembers. Of course he would. Do you expect him to forget and forgive? You've lost any right to his trust. A sharp flash of memory - a katana bathed in blood quivering a finger's width away from Kanzaki's throat, a red droplet welling up where the tip had pressed against the throat before he had recovered enough sense to rein it in. The other man's wide eyes and furious shout - __Snap out it, damn you! Are you trying to kill us too?! _

Not intentionally, no. But that was not a very good reason at all. And an apology was far too meaningless to give for something like that.

Arashi gave Kenshin a final mocking bow, then followed Kanzaki towards the main building. For a while, Kenshin just stared at the spot where he had stood. Then tying his hakama, he walked towards the trees where Arashi had appeared. Squatting down, he touched the grassy ground. There was just the barest of indentation on the grass. If he did not see the man standing here just now, he would have sworn no one had passed here. 

_Damn, he's good. I wonder which omnitsu group he belongs to. I've never seen him before in my life, why the animosity?_

The man had walked on light feet, with a spare economy of movements. He would be fast. Most probably agile too - he had the build for it and there was a smooth grace in his limbs. The eyes caught at his thoughts. Deliberate arrogance and veiled insults aside, his eyes had held a confidence that was impossible to fake. He had seen enough of the false ones to know the difference. 

He remembered the long-haired omnitsu from eight months ago, and the clawed man who tore his shoulder. They were fast. Would this one be faster? If he dropped out of a tree behind him, would he be able to catch him in time? For that matter, with that excellent blending skill, would he able to sense him in time?

Kenshin shook his head almost angrily. Damn it all, he was not in enemy camp, yet he still felt like he was. Katsura-san wanted him to relax and catch some rest, but he would never get any rest this way. He had to stop viewing and analyzing everyone like a potential enemy.

_Like a hitokiri._

Thoughts turning darker again, he sighed and grabbed his swords. He might not be one anymore, but he was finding out that the mind and the heart was not so easily convinced. 

***

The sake had helped to warm Kyosuke up and relax him, and he indulged himself in a little whistling as he walked towards the bath-house. It was always nice to meet old friends, and he had been in the Ishin movement long enough to make a lot of friends. 

He turned a corner and nearly walked head-on into Kanzaki who was coming from the opposite direction. 

"Kanzaki-san," he cheerfully called out as the other man laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You missed the sake, should've come sooner. Where've you been?"

Kanzaki grimaced, "Running errands, fetching people, that sort of things. Katsura-san wanted to talk to Himura."

Some of the warm contentment fled from him, sobering him up. "Why?" he asked anxiously. "Not another mission so soon? I don't think he's even fully recovered yet. You know he was hurt badly from the last one."

Kanzaki nodded curtly, "I know. But most don't. You're in charge of supporting him, so you'd know, but remember not to talk to the others about the extent of his wounds. His reputation has been a useful thing in the past, it won't be good for morale if the men know the 'invincible Hitokiri Battousai' was almost killed by that Okita Souji." 

Kyosuke nodded slowly, understanding but not liking it one bit. "I won't. But didn't the Shinsengumi say anything?"

Kanzaki gave a lop-sided smirk, "They said their Okita Souji had defeated 'the red demon' and the corpse is now fish-bait. It's on the streets everywhere."

Kyosuke stared at him in consternation, "Wait a minute, that's not true!"

"Don't worry. There's another rumor that said Himura Battousai not only soundly defeated the First Troop Captain, but also that the whole First Troop was useless enough to let one man escaped free from their midst."

"Eh??" 

Kanzaki grinned at Kyosuke, "Don't look so surprised. There's always at least two sides to everything, remember? And it's not like it's a complete lie... It's got as much truth as theirs does."

"…we're the ones spreading them?"

"Now you're catching on." Kanzaki grinned wider at Kyosuke's rueful look, then he sobered up. 

"Not that there's much exaggeration needed… to fight Shinsengumi's 'Ten-sai' Okita Souji to a draw, with a wound like that…"

He turned to Kyosuke with a troubled look in his eyes. "Kyo… how long have we known each other?"

Kyosuke blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden change of topic. "Et-to…five years now, I think."

"Five years," Kanzaki said quietly. "And in these five years, have I mistreated you, or lead you wrong?"

"No," Kyosuke replied, thoroughly mystified now. 

"So. You trust me?"

Kyosuke grinned at him, still not catching on but on firmer ground. "Of course I trust you, Kanzaki-san. You've saved my life so many times already."

"Alright. If I give you an advice now, will you listen to me?"

"Yes?"

"Stop being so close to Himura." 

Kyosuke blinked. "Eh?" Kanzaki was staring at him intensely, without a trace of humor in his eyes.

He struggled for a few seconds before finally coming out with a word. "Why?"

Kanzaki's brows made a climb for his hairline, "I would've thought that would be obvious." He tilted his head then continued in a thoughtful tone, "But for you… maybe not. You've always been the trusting type." 

"Himura is not a bad person," Kyosuke said rather defensively. 

The older man shook his head with a slight air of exasperation. "That's beside the point. That's not why I want you to stay away from him."

"Huh?" Kyosuke was starting to wonder if he'd drunk too much sake after all.

Kanzaki threw his hands up, "Mattaku!" He walked over to a nearby large stone, no doubt an important part of the refined garden, and sat himself carelessly over it. Leaning back, he continued in a calmer tone. "Kyo, I've been an Ishin Shishi far longer than you have, almost eight years now. I've seen people come and go, and over the years I've seen more than a few hitokiri. Do you know how long they work in that kind of line?"

"Uh... I have no idea... but they can't have continued for too long," That kind of life must had taken quite a toll on a person. Kyosuke had only to look at Kenshin to have some idea of the kind of stress it must have put on a person. 

Kanzaki nodded, "Right. In fact, they usually don't survive more than three years."

Kyosuke stared at the older man, "That short?" 

"There are a few rare exceptions but," Kanzaki spoke the words slowly, "within three years most of them would be dead, killed by enemies. One or two managed to quit and work as something else. The rest...something went wrong, in here," he lifted a finger to tap the side of his head lightly, "...nothing that anyone else can help with."

His snort was devoid of any humor, "Thing is, it's usually the smarter ones, the ones who seemed quite the decent guy, who would turn out the worst. It's almost as if, the brighter the light is, the darker the shadow is when they turn."

Kyosuke's heart felt as if it was being squeezed in a fist, "You're saying...Himura..."

Kanzaki looked away. "I've seen better men than him who didn't survive. I don't think he'd be any exception."

"But he's not a hitokiri any longer." Kyosuke protested, trying to find some logic that would break through the dreadful feeling of premonition Kanzaki's words was giving him. "You said some of them managed to quit..."

"You think so?" Kanzaki peered at him from the corner of his eyes. "Once a hitokiri, always a hitokiri. It's not something that you can just shed off like an old skin. It's a mind-set, a way of looking at things, an instinct. And if you think Himura is not one anymore - just look at the way he fought, the way he held himself apart from the rest of us, in or out of battle. A hitokiri is always alone, even among a crowd. Especially in a crowd."

Looking at Kyosuke's stricken expression, Kanzaki sighed softly, "I know why you... He does look a bit like Takeshi, doesn't he...? About the right age too. But they're not the same person, Kyo. And if you get too close to him, you're going to end up killed." Kanzaki looked away, "Or worse."

_It's not the appearance...it's their heart... _

"Kanzaki...,"Kyosuke asked in a small voice, "...what happened to those hitokiri? The ones who didn't quite...?"

Silence. Then - "We did the only thing we could, before they did even more damage."

The silence was thick enough to suffocate in. Then Kanzaki softly said, "You've never seen... there's nothing as frightening as a man who'd lost himself to the madness... A few of them just seemed to lose their will to live, but some of them...their eyes can give you nightmare for years, especially if it was someone that you've known before... "

Kyosuke stared at Kanzaki. The other man still had his head turned away from him, but something in his voice...

"...do you know anyone...? Was one of them your friend?"

"Hah... we're talking about you, remember? Don't try to change the subject."

_Am I? Or are you the one who doesn't want to talk about it?_

"Look here."

Kanzaki was tapping the front of his throat. Kyosuke squinted but could not really see anything. "What?" 

Kanzaki's smile was mirthless. "You can't really see it, but I was this close," he separated one thumb and forefinger halfway along his neck side, "to paying a visit to the beyond. And so were about five of my men."

Kyosuke had a sinking feeling that he knew what Kanzaki was going to say. He asked anyway, "Why?"

Kanzaki leaned back against the rock, gazing up at the night sky, "It was about three months ago, we were guarding some of the big shots, one of them was Sakamoto Ryoma." At Kyosuke's blank look, Kanzaki shook his head ruefully, "…never mind. Anyway, we had a run of really bad luck during that time, ended up getting chased by a whole bunch of soldiers. We split up, half of us drawing the attention to let the ones guarding the leaders escape. But we got cornered and surrounded. I thought that was it..."

When Kanzaki did not continue, Kyosuke nudged him none too gently, "Then?"

Kanzaki glared at him but continued talking, "Himura was one of us. All of us were wounded at that time and getting weaker, but he...he just seemed to get even faster and more fierce..." The older man's voice was getting softer, almost reflective. "If you could've seen his eyes then... it was as if he wasn't really seeing us, recognizing us... just enemies, and him the only person left..." He stopped. "He killed all of them you know. In the end, it was ten against one and it didn't make any whit of difference. He just went through them as if they were straw dolls standing still waiting to be butchered."

"I made the mistake of trying to pull him away from the place. He'd had his katana against my throat before I could even blink, I've never seen a man move that fast before." Kanzaki smiled grimly. "He was almost too far gone to recognize me. The blade was already kissing my throat before he stopped."

"But he… stopped, didn't he?" Kyosoke asked tentatively, his mind still reeling with the picture the words had painted.  
  


"Oh, yes. That time. The next time? I'm not so sure. And I don't intend to test it. I'm telling you this Kyo… I will never trust him at my back, and it has nothing to do with skill. He isn't _trained to trust, to work inside a group. His instincts are all wrong. Better for us that he work alone."_

Kyosuke shook his head, trying to come out with something, anything that can give voice to the sense of unease that had grown as he listened to Kanzaki. "That's… it's not… Kanzaki, I know you know more about these things than I do. And it's not that I don't believe you… I do! But that just doesn't sound… right. Kenshin isn't…" He grappled with himself, wishing that he was better at words than this. He could not explain it to Kanzaki, but what he felt was wrong. Wrong. 

"You still don't understand." Kanzaki raked a hand across his short cut hair, "I don't know how to explain this better, damn it, I'm not good with words. But listen…"

"Some people can do this job and walked away in one piece. Some couldn't. And I'm telling you… Himura is *not* in the first group."

When Kyosuke turned aside in confusion, Kanzaki grabbed his arm, the strength of the grip underscoring the urgency reflected in the man's words. "Listen to me, Kyo! Bottom line is… he's going to lose it one of these days. And I don't want you to be anywhere near him when that happened."

Kyosuke stared at Kanzaki, feeling daunted by the conviction in the other man's eyes. "I… I understand. And thank you… for telling me all this." He smiled tentatively. "I know you're doing this for my own good. I promise, I'll be more careful. But Kanzaki… I can't just… walk away. I can't. It's… " He exhaled, shaking his head. "Everybody, no matter who, needs someone to talk to. A friend. You say he's going to self-destruct, but if no one is there to warn him when the time comes… And if I knew it before hand and do nothing, then I might as well be the one that wield the sword." Kyosuke smiled but his eyes were glazed with sadness. "And I can't do that, Kanzaki. Not again. I'm sorry." With a final clap on Kanzaki's arm, he turned away from the small garden. 

Kanzaki continued staring long after Kyosuke's broad back disappeared around the bend before exhaling loudly. "_Kuso… I don't want to say this to you, Kyo… your heart is always too big for your own good, but… Himura Battousai is well on his way down the Shura path - and kami-sama help him, because I don't think anyone can. Not even you."_

***

Somewhere else in the night, a man was running through a forest. Branches and knotted undergrowth tangled his feet and several times he almost fell down. But he kept going, his breath coming in great gasps as he threw fearful looks behind. 

He could no longer hear the sound of fighting behind him, and there were no signs of pursuit. But they would try to catch him, he knew that. And if he were captured, then no one would know of what happened today. He gritted his teeth and re-doubled his efforts. 

Katsura Kogoro must be informed. 

_Sakamoto-san, please wait for me._

High above him, hidden among the thick branches, two figures stood against a tree trunk and watched him run. 

A lilting, feminine voice asked, "Is this all right?"

"Just fine, don't worry about it."

The woman held up something in her fingers that caught the faint moonlight and glinted with a wicked edge. It was a small kunai. 

"Do you want to make it look more authentic?"

The man's grin was lost in the dark shadows. "Very well. Go ahead."

As the woman vanished after the fleeing man, a low growl sounded from higher above in the branches, sounding rather dissatisfied. 

The man chuckled softly. "I know… I'm sorry, but you'll just have to wait another day for a hunt."

"I promise, this little bait will bring in a much more satisfying prey."

END 

***

Notes:

1. The title comes from a medical term à Cognitive Dissonance = 'an unpleasant state where one simultaneously holds 2 ideas / opinions that are inconsistent with each other'. I'm sure you can see where that applies here ^_^ 

2. Japanese terms:

Ten-sai = genius/prodigy

Mattaku = something like 'oh for goodness sake…' 

Shoji = the rice-paper panels in Japanese houses that act as walls and doors

3. Kanji for names:

Arashi = storm


	10. Riding the tiger

Chapter 9: Riding The Tiger 

Chapter 9: Riding The Tiger 

"There are no black or white...just infinite shades of gray."

_-- Eight months ago…_

_ _

_The room was quiet with silence that enfolded the little hut like a shroud. A woman lay in repose in the middle, beautiful face too pale, too still. Nonetheless, there was a gentle tranquility on the delicate face._

_ _

The youth who knelt beside her was a study in contrast. The limbs were loose yet there was a core of contained tension in his body. Resigned acceptance. As if he was holding himself together with effort. Not his body, but his mind.   
  


His heart. 

__

_The man stood inside the hut, watching. Regret was a punishment that ground like the weigh of a mountain and he, for one, was painfully aware of its taste. _

_ _

_I'm sorry. _

_ _

_The words floated in the still air, sound without substance. Mere words… too inadequate and infinitely insufficient for the hope of redemption it pleaded for. _

_ _

_The man looked on, seeing what the youth could not, not yet ready to see. There, in the peacefulness of the body, in that slightest of curve of the silken lips. She would have given him what he sought for if she could. Forgiveness, yes - but redemption was not hers to give. It belonged to a far more demanding taskmaster than she could ever be._

_ _

_They always did say that you are your own hardest judge. _

__

_ _

_ _

_I asked you once to be my sword. Will you now be my shield? Our shield. _

_ _

_ _

_…_

_ _

_ _

_I will come with you to Kyoto. But for now…_

_ _

_ _

_ _

_The man understood. As he left, he gave one last look around. The youth had touched a gentle fingertip lightly to the woman's rouged lips. A good-bye. _

__

_Be our shield. Protect us – and maybe one day, you will find it in you to forgive yourself. _

_ _

**

Kenshin sat motionless at one corner of the room, his katana leaning against one shoulder. From here, he could see almost all of the men sitting in the room, including their 'retainers'. Especially the retainers. Not all of them were bodyguards, but enough of them were. Their eyes assessed him as he did them, judging, weighing. Some were obviously edgy, a few of them good enough to show nothing but bored disinterest on their face. Those were the ones he watched out for. 

His own eyes were lowered and he made no motion to draw attention to himself. No one noticed him like that. But he listened attentively to everything being said. From time to time, his sharp gaze - at odd with his disinterested posture - would flick up to fix on one speaker or another. Those eyes missed little, observing the gestures, the unconscious body language, extricating the less obvious implications. His mind recorded everything being said and even more things left unsaid. Read between the lines, Katsura-san had told him once. It did not sound so different from his shishou's teaching of Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu. Read the body, know the intention. 

Read their mind. 

He was just a guard, albeit a very good one. They did not expect him to know, or understand what was going on. But he understood. More than they think.

And right now, too much was going on too fast. 

**_Bang!___**

"Are you telling us to throw our pride and cower before those damn gaijins?! KATSURA!!" 

Ieda Yasuhiro had slammed his fist down on the tatami floor before him, a deafening sound that silenced the chaotic arguments among the rest of the men in the room. All of them turned towards the older man, and the younger leader whom he had accused. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a blade. 

Katsura Kogoro folded his hands before his chest, the heated gleam in his eyes belying his usual cool mask. 

"I did not say that, Ieda-san. _Sonno Joi_ – that is the banner that all of us Ishin Shishi gather under. That will never change, be reasonable!"

"All I'm saying is that we cannot afford to attract more animosity from the gaijins at this time. France by itself is bad enough, but if we give England and the other countries reason to unite against us again...we don't have the power to go against all of them."

"Which is why, now more than ever, we need to ally ourselves with Satsuma-han."

Outraged voices raised in protests. One of the man behind Ieda shouted out, "You're telling us to sell ourselves out to those murdering bastards! How can you betray all those who'd died in their hands?!"

Katsura turned glittering eyes at the man who had spoken. "Betray? I would say that I will be a true traitor if I let past mistakes and old grudges condemn our people into ruin. I will say this now – by ourselves, we have no chance of success."

An outroar followed that blatant statement. For a while, cries were raised in outraged denials, and vehement floor-pounding drowned out individual voices of reason. The already tense meeting threatened to degenerate into chaos.

"SILENCE!" A deep voice thundered over the pandemonium. Some of the voices stuttered into shocked hush. Akiyama Shinobu swept a frosty glare across the room, his straight-backed dignity conveying his offense at the uncivilized behaviour.

"We will *not*," he announced deliberately, "sink down into petty fighting. We are not common street thugs who do not know better ways. Everyone will have their chance to voice their opinions. One at a time." He inclined his head towards Katsura. 

Kenshin allowed his own fists to unclench. A quick discreet sweep around the room showed the rest of the guards doing the same. None of them truly wanted a fight, but with the level of tension the meetings took these days, it was a distinct possibility. 

Katsura gave a little grateful nod to Akiyama. "Thank you. As I was saying," he raised his voice, addressing the rest of the crowd in the room, "yes, Satsuma has been our rival for centuries. Yes, they had killed our people in the past, but so had _we_ killed their men. This is not the time for us to be bogged down by the past."

"Even as we hesitate and argue, Bakufu is busy securing alliances. We now know for a fact that the French gaijin had given their full support to the Shogun. My sources had informed me that the new rifle shipments had started to come in heavy quantities. And though it hasn't been confirmed yet, I strongly suspect that the French is going to send some of their navy frigates to here."

That raised another furor, though the voices raised in denials were tinged with an undertone of dread. Some of the people present had first-hand experience of the bombardment British navy had inflicted on Kagoshima. It was not something that could be easily forgotten, or dismissed lightly. 

"How can we trust those who'd turn against us in the past?" Someone demanded. "They allied themselves with Seifu against us in Kyoto, why should they support us now?"

"The balance of power in Satsuma had changed." Katsura spoke to the crowd, but his eyes held those of Aizawa Shigenobu who sat opposite him, an island of quiet in the room. "Those in favor of supporting Bakufu has lost their power, and the younger rank of leaders are in support of replacing our weak government. The time is right - there is no better opportunity than right now. We have to act before Bakufu realizes what we are up to."

"Once our two strongest Han are united, the other provinces will see our strength and join us. Tosa-Han has already indicated that they would be willing to ally themselves with us. Tosa had many loyalists who had been forced to remain quiet in the past because they were not strong enough. But that is about to change."

Ieda leaned forward, bracing on his fist, "And I suppose you heard this from your 'friend', eh, Katsura? This… Sakamoto Ryoma?" He craned his neck and hollered at the crowd. "Sakamoto Ryoma does not even have proper government rank. He does not have the capacity to speak for the Tosa government. Why should we trust what he said? And why isn't he here with us – is he too afraid to show his face?

"He is on the way here," Katsura replied. "He should be here within the next few days. We will see then if he had the authority to speak on behalf of Tosa Shishi," Katsura's tone left no doubt of what he believed. "But before that, we will need to determine our own position. This is not the first time that the idea of an alliance had been brought up, but this is perhaps the most critical time when it would give the most critical advantage." 

"Why should we believe what you said?" The speaker was Akatsuki Toyo, a young middle-rank samurai with modest followers. He was widely known as Ieda's man, voicing Ieda's opinions and often undertaking actions that the senior samurai with his higher position could not do.

"You gave us unconfirmed news and expect us to believe you. And you raise this alliance issue at such a convenient time, isn't it?" He sneered, contempt on his face. "How do we know that this isn't just a ploy to get us to do what you want?"

"And just what is it," Katsura's voice was deceptively soft, "that I want?" Those who understood the young leader better knew that the angrier he became, the softer he would spoke. Akiyama looked on with narrowed eyes, while Ieda wore a strange half smirk as he observed his rival closely. 

Akatsuki continued with the blithe confidence born of either true bravery, or dense stupidity. "You and Takasugi Shinsaku were the ones who met up with that…_man_ ,when he came to attack Kagoshima. Behind our back and against our wishes…" He raised his voice against the growing angry mutters from Katsura's men. "You've been pushing for this alliance since then. What does Saigo Takamori promised you? High position? Wealth? Who can guarantee that you're not using this to further your own ambitions…!"

Loud shouts and insults erupted at that blatant challenge, some of Katsura's followers were about to launch themselves at Ieda's men. 

"Yamero!!"

Katsura's men stopped at that harsh order from their leader. Katsura ignored Akatsuki, instead sweeping his gaze over the room. "I am aware that some of you suspect that of me, and I can understand that. Words will do nothing to allay that suspicions, therefore I will simply let my actions speak for myself. Time will tell if I act simply for my own cause, or for what I believe is the best for our country. And let us not forget that – because no matter what _Han_ we owe our loyalty to, in the end, all of us are above all people of this country."

"However," he added, eyes steely, "while difference in opinions are acceptable, a man should at least have the courage to openly air his own belief. Borrowing a _kohai's words to voice your words… hiding behind other people's back and letting them do your work is not a proper action for a true __Shishi."_

This time, the uproar was definitely uglier. Kenshin cursed inside and half-raised himself to a kneel, eyes darting to assess possible points of attacks. _Did Katsura-san have to be so open about it? He had all but point an accusing finger at Ieda's face, and the veiled insult was heavy enough to ignite violence._

"ENOUGH!" Akiyama roared, cutting sharply through the commotion. His glare quelled even the most hot-headed of the youngsters in the room. "Since most of you do not seem to be able to control your own tempers this evening, I am calling an early break. We will meet back again after dinner, and by that time, I hope all of us will be more level-headed." 

He glowered at everybody in the room, daring them to contradict him. Katsura was not spared his piercing gaze, and the younger man bowed slightly, standing up to exit the room. Kenshin hurriedly slipped away and padded after Katsura Kogoro. 

Outside, he saw the other man gave a curt wave to stop his guards waiting outside from following him. He hesitated for a moment, then steeled himself and followed anyway. If Katsura-san did not want him along, he would be told so. Until then, it was simply too dangerous for him to move around all by himself. 

Katsura moved at a clipped pace and he only caught up with him outside the compound. The other man gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing. Kenshin shadowed him silently, following him up the small hill behind the mansion until they reached the top. From there, they could see down the mansion compound and all across the wide expanse of forested hills.

"You've been attending these meetings for about half a year now," Katsura suddenly said without looking over his shoulder. "What do you think?"

Kenshin glanced aside at the older man. Katsura had a habit of talking to him whenever they were alone, and the Ishin Shishi leader seemed to expect Kenshin to answer the difficult questions that stumped even him. Kenshin had no illusions that he could help him with the heavy burdens of leadership, his expertise was somewhere else. But if the conversations helped him to think things through, then he did not mind being a bouncing board. 

"I think… everybody's getting more impatient. Every meeting, the feel of pressure kept increasing." He stopped, wondering whether he should say it, then decided that Katsura probably already knew of it. "More people are growing dissatisfied…against you. It's getting dangerous, Katsura-san."

Katsura gave a cynical snort. "Yes, I know. Some of them probably dreamt of getting rid of me every night. Well, if they can do a better job at this, I might just let them."

"Katsura-san!"

A weary half-laugh answered him. "I'm sorry, that was my pessimist side talking. Just ignore me, Shinsaku always said I get more cynical when I'm tired."

"How is… Takasugi-san?" Kenshin asked hesitantly. He only knew the leader of Kiheitai for a few days, but the man gave him a strong impression. He reminded him of a barely banked fire, a curious mixture of boundless energy controlled and focused into lethal actions.

"Still alive," Katsura said starkly, "he's chafing at the restrictions even more than I do. He had less time to waste than these people." The unspoken words hang heavily in the air. Takasugi Shinsaku suffered from Tuberculosis, an incurable illness that could take his life in the next one or two years. 

"I remembered when we decided to go down this road together," Katsura said suddenly. "Only five years ago, yet it felt like such a long time. We called it 'riding the tiger'." He smiled at Kenshin's look of confusion. "It was from an old story. A man encountered a tiger and was forced to run for his life. But he could not outrun the tiger, and there was no place for him to hide. In the end, he realized there was only one safe place for him."

"Ah, on top of the tiger's back," Kenshin caught on quickly.

Katsura nodded. "Yes, he somehow managed to climb on top of the tiger's back. Now the tiger could not reach him and the man was safe. But he soon discovered that he could not get down at all, because then tiger would get him. He was forced to stay on the tiger's back indefinitely, and neither the man nor the beast was able to escape from the status quo."

Kenshin frowned as he mulled over the story. "But then the man wasn't truly safe. And it's only a matter of time before he falls from hunger or exhaustion."

Katsura smiled, a dark glint in his eyes. "Yes. Well then, he will just have to hang on longer than the tiger could stand, wouldn't he?"

Kenshin opened his mouth to say that that was impossible, then closed it slowly as the realization of what Katsura truly meant sank in. 

"We've been riding the tiger for several years now," Katsura stared off at the horizon, where the sprawling mass of Kyoto covered the lower lands. Dusk was coming, and from the distance, the high towers of the Shogun's place, and the Emperor's palace could be seen sharp against the reddish sky. 

"At first it was just a few of us, but now… I can't really say when the point of no return was reached by both sides. Perhaps after Kinmon no hen, or even the Ikedaya Inn massacre that lead to it. Maybe even earlier than that, when Bakufu allowed Shimonoseki to be decimated by the Allied navy. But what I am certain of is that Choshu will burn before we will bow down to Tokugawa dynasty ever again."

Kenshin looked away from the older man's grim face, feeling a chill inside him at the absolute certainty in Katsura's voice. Even though the different factions inside Choshu Ishin Shishi fought over the actions they should take, but that one sentiment was echoed by all of them. 

He gave Kenshin a grim smile. "I told you once that we are fighting for a better world. But most people are in this for far less noble motives. Too many see only opportunities to be reaped during the time of chaos – it doesn't matter to them who win as long as they come out on top. And even though I'd like to think otherwise, there are just as many of this kind of people among the Shishi as anywhere else." 

Katsura's voice dropped to almost a whisper, sounding almost as if he had forgotten Kenshin was there. 

"Sometimes… I wonder. Is there enough of us to make a difference? There are so many things where you can go wrong, so many temptations to corrupt… All of us in that meeting – we are supposed to lead, but I can't even say if each of us will put the greater good before other personal benefits."

"Why are you telling me this, Katsura-san?" A hint of desperation crept into Kenshin's voice despite his best efforts.

Katsura had a strange look in his eyes as he looked at Kenshin. He seemed to hesitate over something, but then the reverberating sound of the watch came from the main building. It was time to go back. 

Katsura shook his head. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time." He started back andswitched the subject suddenly. "By the way, Arai-sensei is in Kyoto for the next few days. Do you want him to have a look at your katana?"

Kenshin looked at him in surprise. He had heard of Arai Shakku of course. The man was well-known as Choshu Ishin Shishi's famous and best _katanakaji_. Not someone whose services would be easy to appropriate, and not someone of his caliber. His would be swords that were wielded by finest samurais, nobles, and other important personages. 

"It's alright, Katsura-san, I really don't need to. My sword is just fine."

Katsura motioned towards Kenshin's swords. "I've always meant to let him make you a matching set of daisho. The wakizashi that I gave you two years ago was only meant to be a temporary thing, since you don't have one at the time."

"Hai... do you wish it back, Katsura-san? I really only need a katana, it's enough." The wakizashi had been Katsura's. Two years ago, Katsura had looked at the lone katana the youth had brought with him, and promptly handed him a wakizashi to match, saying that from now on Kenshin would need it more than he would. 

Katsura laughed softly, "No, no... what kind of a _kenkaku_ would you be without one pair of daisho? I wasn't going to ask for it back. But Arai-sensei is the best sword-maker I've ever seen, and he doesn't come around often. I've mentioned you to him before. If you have the time, it'll be a good thing to go meet him and let him have a look. Even if you don't need any blades at the moment, who knows what could happen in the future?"

"Hai…" Kenshin agreed hesitantly. 

"Just one bit of advice though," Katsura was smiling rather ruefully, but his eyes seemed to be filled with some kind of hidden mirth, "Arai-sensei has a bit of a... quirky temperament... shall we say? He isn't exactly the most amiable person around - just be patient and try not to... annoy him too much."

That did not sound too reassuring. Kenshin was pondering if a pair of slightly better blades were really worth the hassle indicated when they finally returned to the mansion.

The moment they stepped into the compound, he noticed that something was wrong. Disturbed murmurs filled the air and all the people were crowded around the entrance to the main room, their gazes drawn inside. Katsura stepped up his pace and Kenshin followed, warily assessing the mood of the crowd. 

One of the men looked back on hearing their approach. Eiji, his youthful face transparent with anxiety and apprehension. He brightened on seeing Kenshin. 

"Himura-san! Come and see, a messenger just arrived. Heavens, he's badly wounded, they didn't think he's going to make it…" he trailed off with wide eyes as he finally saw Katsura Kogoro beside Kenshin. Kanzaki appeared from the other side of the crowd and whacked Eiji smartly on the head. "Go on," he said roughly, directing his words to the rest of the crowd too, "don't stand here gawking like a bunch of fishwives. Get in or get out. And make some way here!"

As Kenshin edged past the opening with Katsura, his eyes took in the brightly lit-up room. Akiyama Shinobu and Ieda were already seated further off, watching intently. A man in bloodied and tattered clothing laid on the middle of the room, a cluster of physicians busily tending to him. A lot of extra lanterns were concentrated around them, helping the physicians. The man's breathing was shallow and uneven, his face waxy and beaded with perspiration. But on closer look, the wounds he suffered seemed to be shallow ones, not enough to be responsible for the severity of his symptoms. 

One of the physicians suddenly looked up and gave a despairing shake of his head. "It's no use. He's been poisoned, and the poison has taken too strong a hold in his body. It's some kind of enhanced variation of the _mandara poison, our antidote isn't going to work in time."_

Another murmur aroused from those words. Kenshin looked back at the messenger, seeing the bluish tint of the lips and feeling a sudden wrench of pity. The man was already dead, it was just a matter of time.

The messenger suddenly opened his eyes, his fever-bright gaze wandering around the room, suddenly latching on to Katsura Kogoro. 

"Katsura…san," he whispered brokenly, his voice hoarse and thin. "Katsura-san."

Katsura hurried to kneel to his side. "Shimada… Shimada-san, right? You're travelling with Sakamoto-san, aren't you?"

"Katsura-san," Shimada raised up a hand weakly, to be grasped by Katsura. "Please… save them. We were… ambushed. Tokiyama crossroad… they took them… I don't know where… please…"

The reaction was electric. Akiyama and Ieda exchanged a look 

"Who?" Katsura pressed, tightening his grip on the failing hand. "Who took them, Shimada-san?"

Shimada opened his mouth, but a sudden convulsion shook his body, and he started coughing, blood trickling down one side of his mouth. The physicians hurried over to hold the thrashing body down. Shimada cried out once, body arched taut like a bow. A deep, rattling breath shuddered out of him, then he was still. 

Katsura gently lowered the limp hand and passed his fingers over Shimada's eyes, closing the still staring eyes. He raised his head to look over the hushed crowd, then addressed Akiyama and Ieda in a flat voice. "Let's adjourned to the meeting room. We'll talk there."

As Katsura walked out of the room, leaving the cooling body behind, his gaze flicked up imperceptibly to the ceiling, past the slightest crack between the panels, and meeting a pair of cool gray eyes hidden in the dark. An unspoken command was passed across, and the hidden person nodded once in affirmation. 

**

The study room was dimly lit by only a single candle. Katsura Kogoro was seated behind a low table, a book spread open in front of him. A person dressed in black omnitsu gear was seated casually in front of him. Theface cloth was loose around the shoulders, revealing the face. It was the omnitsu Kenshin knew as Arashi. 

"There was an ex-military quarter at Fushimi," he was saying, "about five miles away from the place where Sakamoto Ryoma and his company was ambushed. It had been converted into a merchant house, but the night watch I questioned saw soldiers entering the place three nights ago some time before dawn. They brought prisoners with them, not many, just three or four." 

"Soldiers. So it was Bakufu who ambushed them?"

"It seemed so. One of the prisoners matched the description of Sakamoto, but to be sure, I had a closer look inside. I didn't see him, but I saw one of his friends being led out of a storage shed at the back."

Katsura nodded, studying Arashi's pensive face. "Is something wrong?"

"…_iya. But, something about this whole thing feels… off, somehow. I feel as if we're only seeing the surface intention of it, like there should something more."_

"Based on what?"

A sigh. "Little things, here and there. Nothing definite, not so much what they did as what they _didn't do. If they captured Sakamoto Ryoma now, when they've ignored him up until now, it must mean that something crucial has changed… or that they've come across enough information and evidence to hang us. But if they did, then why not follow up on things? Simply capturing him isn't going to do them much good, and besides, it will alert us prematurely. If they'd attacked us on several different fronts all at once, we wouldn't have any warning at all, and our losses would have been much greater."_

"Of course, there are a lot of possible reasons. As I said, I don't have any basis, it's more of a gut feeling."

"I trust your feelings. If you think we're missing parts of the picture, do whatever you need to investigate it. The rescue part will be handled by others."

"Your little pet dragon?"

Katsura smiled ruefully. "Don't call him that. He wouldn't appreciate it."

Arashi gave a soft hmph. "He has little sense of humor."

"He does, though the few times that I've seen it, it's rather… cutting. Kind of like a certain person I know."

"…are you trying to hint at something?" 

"Now, would I do that?" The older man's smile was all serene innocence. 

"… All right. I won't pick on him until I've known him better. Satisfied?"

"Note that I didn't say anything."

"Really," Arashi drawled. "Your silence said more than most men's prattling. But he'd better be as good as you said he is." 

Katsura smiled briefly, then abruptly asked. "When will Okubo Toshimitchi reach Kyoto?"

"From my contact, in another week's time. We always keep track of his progress."

Katsura nodded, brows pursed thoughtfully. "And Saigo Takamori?"

"Him? Not a move. He's still in Kagoshima, and I know he was there when Okubo got your letter. I think it's safe to assume only Okubo is coming." One of Arashi's eyebrows quirked as he continued dryly, "Maybe they're just trying to make sure that if we betrayed them, we won't get the both of them all at once."

"Pessimist," Katsura murmured. 

"Realist," Arashi retorted, which earned a rueful chuckle from Kogoro. 

"Don't worry. We'll get Sakamoto here in time to see him." Arashi unfolded to his feet in one graceful move. "I assume the rescue attempt will be soon?" On Katsura's nod, Arashi continued, "Right. I'll see if I can find any puppet-master in the background. While I'm gone, try not to antagonize somebody into sending assassins after you, will you?"

Katsura watched Arashi slid the door open soundlessly. "Arashi."

Arashi looked back and raised an eyebrow in question.

"I'm sorry that you still have to operate in the dark. I know I promised you something different…"

"Katsura." Arashi interrupted gently, the usual barb gone from his tone. "I understand. It's all right. In any case, my kind works better in secrecy." He smiled. "You can make good on your promise when this is all over."

A gust of wind blew in through the open door and the candle stuttered, casting wild shadows across the room. When the light steadied, the door was empty. 

CONTINUE CHAPTER 10


	11. Rescue

Chapter 10: Rescue

Chapter 10: Rescue

Kenshin crouched at the edge of the bamboo forest with Kanzaki and two other men, waiting. One of the men fidgeted impatiently, but stilled quickly after one glare from Kanzaki. There were about a dozen others spread out in the surrounding perimeter, all of them waiting for the scouts to come back and report. To his experienced senses, the members of the assault team with him were still much too loud. 

One would just have to hope there was no one in the camp who had as keen senses as he. 

A strong gust of wind swept over the bamboo forest they were hiding in, and the sprawling big limbs made an eerie groaning, creaking noise as they bent with the gust. It was the kind of noise that sent a flutter through your stomach and even experienced men shivered nervously. More than one surreptitiously checked the ground and the hanging limbs for snakes. Any snakes found in a bamboo forest were almost certain to be deadly poisonous, and some have been known to drop from above onto unsuspecting victims.

Kenshin waited in utter stillness, muscles relaxed to ward off stiffness. He was used to this, the waiting. Back when he still worked as an assassin, there were many occasions when he had to wait for hours in the dark for the targeted victims to pass or for an opportunity to present itself. 

But this calm before the fight was time for something else to him. Time to slip into the killer inside him. 

He breathed evenly, measuredly. There was no outward sign, but inside, he was changing. 

There were no place for doubts and hesitation in the battle-field. No matter how much he doubted the worth of his actions, once he was in the middle of it, nothing would be allowed to distract him. 

_Clear the heart and mind of all distractions. _

He imagined a smooth sheet of ice and willed it into existence. It was cold and impenetrable, without cracks and breaking points. Behind the frozen wall, the flame that fueled his will burned, a powerful source of strength. But the heat of the flame did not reach the ice. 

He opened his eyes and watched the world with a gaze gone cold and impassive. All emotions and thoughts extraneous to the bare existence of the killer were subdued and hidden away behind the wall. Senses fully turned outward opened up, the world becoming crystal-clear with his whole existence focusing on the _now_ and with nothing within to side-track it.

The killer only lived in the present. 

His ears picked up the faint rustle of feet on wet grass a minute before their two scouts crept back and whispered their report. 

"Six guards in front, six on each side. At least eight archers patrolling outside the second floor balcony."

The other scout confirmed the report. 

"There was what looked like a storage building at the back yard, but there were four men guarding the entrance. The captives might be kept in there." 

The first one added, "The guards seemed to be a little bit too relaxed. Half of them were half asleep."

"Good, that'll just make things easier for us."

"But if they are really soldiers, they have horrible discipline…"

Kanzaki raised his hand to stall further argument. "We know for sure that Sakamoto Ryoma is in there, so we're going in. Stick to the plan, but keep alert for traps." 

He gave Kenshin a side-ways glance, eyes lingering to seek something on Kenshin's face. Kenshin gave him a slight nod. He was ready for his part.

Kanzaki raised his arm and gave a sharp flick forward. Tiny sparks lit the darkness, blossoming into blazing brightness as oil-soaked cloths caught fire. Ten bows raised as one and fire-tipped arrows streaked across the clearing and thudded into beams and awnings, piercing through shoji and into the rooms inside. Startled cries resounded inside as the fire began to spread. The archers on the second floor loosed a flurry of arrows that flew widely off targets. They could not see the attackers in the shadows of the forest, but their own bodies were outlined perfectly by the dancing flames. The next barrage of fire arrows took out nearly half the archers, their burning bodies tumbling down the railing to fall shrieking to the ground. 

The moment the men surged forward towards the house, Kenshin launched into a sprint, but he ran in a different direction. Keeping at the edge of the forest, he circled around as far back the building as he can. Near the back, the bamboo forest grew right up against the high wall. He swiftly climbed up one of the huge old bamboos. The supple limbs bent under his weight, but he was light enough to get away with it. Lodging his feet firmly on two different branches, he looked down at the back yard of the building right under him.

The storage building was quite large, and it was indeed guarded by four soldiers armed with rifles and swords. They were restless, nervously craning their neck in a futile effort to better see what was happening up front. From here, the sounds of battle could barely be heard, but the reddish glow of fire could be seen against the dark sky. Kenshin could hear them arguing whether or not to go and help their friends. 

Mental shields firmly in place, Kenshin assessed them with cold eyes. He needed to kill them without them alerting the rest, which mean no gun-shots. 

They were completely unprepared. Kenshin's fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword. 

This would be easy. 

_Let the killing begin. _

One guard barely had the chance to look up, mouth opening in shock, then Kenshin's sheathed katana smashed into his head, the sheer momentum of a eight-meter fall cracking his head open, brain tissues and blood bursting out of the ruined skull. Kenshin landed precisely balanced, the end of his saya hitting the ground and his right hand whipping the slim blade out before he even turned. 

There was no need to see. He knew precisely where all three were. 

Blue lightning carved the air to rip into one soldier's side, the bloodied blade coming out halfway across his stomach. The man gaped at his wound, gun still unprimed, no longer a threat. Kenshin slid one step to the right, reversing his grip on the hilt, then drove his katana into a soldier still gawking at the gory remains of the first one dead. His eyes flickered to Kenshin's at the last moment, rifle falling to the ground as he tried to grasp the steel imbedded in his stomach.

Heavy footsteps on dirt, a shifting of air behind him informing him exactly where the last soldier was. His left hand shot up, the end of the saya hitting the fourth soldier below the jaw. The man's head snapped up, staggering backward, but he did not let go of the rifle, finger too ready on the trigger. If he died, last minute convulsions could still set it off.

There was no hesitation. Kenshin surged in range, then his katana disappeared in a flurry of motions. The soldier was still falling, mouth open as he tried to say something, anything against his killer. Then his head slid off his shoulders, severed from the neck. His body and head tumbled to the ground at the same time as his right arm, cut off at the elbow joint, the now useless rifle clattering loose from fingers slack in death. 

No gun-shots. Not even a scream. 

Kenshin stood among the corpses, cocking his head to listen for shouts that would tell him that he was discovered. Nothing aside from increasing furore at the front. Kanzaki and the others were wrecking merry hell with the other guards. 

He leapt past the bodies, pressed himself beside the storage door and cautiously nudged it open. Darkness yawned behind the entrance, darker shapes of storage boxes and sacks in the corners. But a weak, yellow light flickered from an open staircase in the middle, leading downwards. 

_Underground rooms? More guards. _

Kenshin ran across soundlessly and knelt beside the opening, peering down to see the wooden staircase turning to the left after about five meters down. Two torches guttering on sconches on the wall cast a weak flickering light on the darkness, barely enough to illuminate the steps. He strained to hear anything from down there that indicated he had been discovered. Nothing. But he did not survive this long without learning a few hard lessons.

Kenshin took a breath then deliberately closed out all other sounds. The dim sound of fighting outside, the even fainter cracklings of fire consuming timbers, the whisper of winds against the bamboo leaves…all faded into the background, only the barest of awareness left to alert him of any unusual movements. 

He concentrated all his senses downstairs, opening himself as he had been taught to do. 

A whisper of breath…

The sound came faster than he had expected. The space was not very big down there, the stairs did not go down deep. The tunnel of the stairway channeled the sound up like a funnel, that was why the sound came so easily.

Another one, almost on top of the first…

Two distinct breathing, faster than normal, but still unhurried. They had not heard him, those who tried to hide their own breathing would not sound so natural. However, they were on alert. 

A soft, clinking sound of ceramics, duller scrapings of woods. Were they drinking down there? No clanks of metal, no distinctive rattling of blade against metal guards. Whatever weapons the guards had down there, they were not ready to be used.

Decision made, he descended the steps on silent feet, hugging the left wall. He had barely gone halfway down when running steps alerted him of other dangers. 

The half-open door to the storage crashed open and two soldiers burst in panting. They saw him and one of them immediately rushed him, screaming. His katana was drawn up high in the air, a stance that exposed his chest. Kenshin leapt up closer instead of backing up, fouling his expectation, and his katana thrust right up against his open front. The blade slid easily and precisely into the man's heart, his saya swinging up to block aside the now powerless blow.

One hard kick against the chest, and the body fell back instead of sagging against him. The other soldier behind him had waited until the way to the narrow staircase was clear, and he was smart enough to use thrust motion instead of over-the-head blow. 

But compared to Okita Souji's lightning quick _Sankyoku, this thrust was far too slow. Kenshin clearly saw the path of the attack and side-step easily to avoid the blow. No __hiratsuki here either. The soldier half-staggered from the failed attack. The space was too cramped for his own attack, so Kenshin dropped the saya and in one swift motion grabbed the back of the man's neck and shoved him hard forward. The man gave a frightened yell and half crashed, half tumbled down the steps, colliding hard against the wall. He slumped boneless, neck slumping at an odd angle. Kenshin was already rushing down the stairs, leaping two and three steps at a time. _

Confused calls from downstairs steered him right towards his target. He took in the situation with a glance. There were indeed only two guards, and although they had drawn out their swords, they were not yet prepared for battle. A lattice-work of wooden beams separated a holding cell from the small underground area. One guard was fumbling with the rope holding the cell door closed, the other one had taken a torch and was holding it in front of him, squinting past the glare to see up the stairs. Bad mistake. The torch light destroyed his night-vision and he did not see the lithe form leaping down the stairs until too late. 

Five steps away from the floor, Kenshin launched into a flying leap, katana lashing out in a wide swipe that tore out the torch-bearing guard's throat. The man crashed back against the wall as Kenshin landed on top of the table, feet wide apart to balance against the table's rocking. Sake bottles and wooden cups went flying across the surface as his right feet swept back, a half-turn that presented his left side to the second guard. A flash of steel and his reversed blade had thrust back parallel to the ground, straight into the man's stomach. The sound of smashed crockery merged with man's choked cry as he slid off the impaling blade. 

Threats taken care of, he leapt off the table and kicked the wooden cell door open. His own night vision had weakened but he could see another person inside the dark cell, most probably another guard, and he had no time to waste before the other person got smart and decided to use the prisoner as hostage. 

The door crashed against the side frame and he rushed inside, now seeing the design of the man's garb and recognizing a Bakufu official. The man had not even drawn his katana yet. Kenshin's blade swiped out to slash the man in the neck. 

A blur of movement came from his right and his heart stopped in his chest as another figure interposed itself in the line of attack. 

"YAMERO!"

He knew the voice. Kenshin cried out and faster than he could think, his body reacted violently, remembering another event ingrained into his very soul. Too late to stop, too much momentum, but at the last moment he wrenched his sword arm up brutally. The katana blade whistled past both men's kneeling figure, the sharp end of it grazing across the blocking man's top-knot. The blade slammed into the wooden bars of the prison, cutting a one-meter swath through three of the bars until the force was spent, the lethal steel embedded halfway in the fist-thick bars. 

Kenshin stood there gasping heavily, eyes wide in terror, mind half in and out of remembrance. 

The man who had protected the other person took a deep breath. Then another. Finally, he spoke in a deliberately light tone. "Well. It seems your skill is just as good as before. Kenshin."

Kenshin wrenched his katana out of the wood, fingers clammy and trembling on the hilt. His body was still shaking from the after-effect of that near miss. 

"Sakamoto-san!" He fought to keep the fear out of his voice. "Are you all right?"

The man grinned at him unabashedly. "As soon as I get out of this damn cell, I will be."

Kenshin took several deep breaths. The overwhelming terror had begun to recede and anger borne out of fright came bubbling up. "DON'T… Don't **DO that to me! Next time, I may not be able to stop!"**

"Suma-nai. But I can't let you kill him. Kaishuu, daijobu?" This last was directed towards the man behind him. 

"I'm fine. You're the one who almost got decapitated, Ryoma." The reply was delivered in a dry tone. "_Mattaku_… it's just like something you'd do."

Kenshin looked back and forth, noting the familiarity between the two men. Why would Sakamoto Ryoma protect a government official? Was Ieda-san right in saying he had a hand in every sides? What was he supposed to do with it?

"Sakamoto-san, he is…?"

Sakamoto stood up, brushing himself. Kenshin realized that he was not tied up. 

"Katsu Kaishuu - an old friend of mine. He knows I'm going to be deadly bored in here, so he came down to drink a little sake with me." A few overturned bottles of sake on the floor testified to Sakamoto's words. "And maybe even make sure that nothing… unfortunate… happens to me while I'm out of sight?" Sakamoto's grin drew a snort from the older man, although a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"But isn't he…"

Ryoma looked back and forth between Kenshin and Katsu, then grinned. "Nah, you've just taken Kaishuu hostage and forced the guards to release me.The Bakufu couldn't possibly expect a scholar like him to stop us. He's lousy with swords."

Katsu Kaishuu gave a second, louder snort at that. "As if I have a chance in hell against two swordsmen like you two."

"See? He's alright." 

Kenshin nodded hesitantly at that. "Then hurry. We have to get out of here fast."

A loud boom from above rattled their little underground cell and dirt dusted down from above. Katsu cocked his head up and remarked to Sakamoto calmly, "He's right, Ryoma. It's time for you to go. Your friends up there are wreaking havoc, and I'd much prefer a lower rate of fatality." He gave a rather pointed look at the two guards lying on their pools of blood outside the cell door. 

"Yosh! Let me get my swords." Sakamoto swept out of the cell door and picked up the set of daisho placed near the guards' table. 

"Matta-na. Kaishuu. Take care of yourself. Just put all the blame on me."

Katsu made a vague shooing motion. "Go on, get out of here. You bring troubles wherever you go." Despite the caustic words, there was no animosity in his voice. 

Kenshin bounced on his feet impatiently, straining for any sounds from above. "Sakamoto-san, come on!" 

Not waiting for the other man to catch up, Kenshin ran up the stairs. Despite half his expectation, no other soldiers rushed down to attack them. The storage room was empty, but the darkness was half-lit by a harsh crimson glare. From the open doorway, he could see the main building burning viciously. The dancing flames licked up the sides of the building and reflected off the overcast sky, lighting the underbelly of the clouds a sullen crimson.

Sakamoto stopped behind him and stared along with him. "Aren't you people overdoing it?" he gasped. 

Kenshin bit off a curse. "I didn't think… Let's go. The faster we leave, the better." As he and Sakamoto ran across the empty courtyard, he nervously eyed the fiery sparks that rose off the burning building, blown haphazard by the wind. _If those sparks catch on somewhere else… the next house's not that far away! _

As they approached the front, sounds of fighting increased until they turned a corner and the battle was suddenly all around them. A locked pair stumbled past them, oblivious to everybody else as they fought for their lives. There were about fifteen other people all around the front yard, shouting and cursing as they struggled against each other. It seemed to be the whole of the soldiers, no one even bothered to try to put out the fire. 

Kenshin skirted the edge of the melee, eyes darting to find Kanzaki. He could hear Sakamoto right behind him. A soldier blocked in front of him, thrusting his spear forward. Kenshin swiftly turned side-ways - the spear-head missing him by an inch – and changed from a run into a leap in one step. Less than an arm's length now, and his katana angled in a low horizontal swipe, biting into the soldier's mid-section before the man could react. Not slowing, Kenshin's momentum tore his blade out of the falling body, ignoring the man's dying gasp. 

He finally caught sight of Kanzaki near the middle of the battle. A rush of footsteps to his right behind him, a glimpse of rushing body, and his katana rose up without thought into a block. A jarring in his arm, loud clang of steel meeting steel, and his raised eyes met a sweaty face of an older soldier, grimacing as he pushed hard against his katana. The man was stronger, but Kenshin never intended to battle him strength for strength. He held the two-handed block for only a moment, then suddenly dipped down the tip of his sword. The man lurched forward, mouth open in surprise, then the hilt of Kenshin's katana slammed into his nose, the force aided by his forward fall. The soldier staggered backward, hand rising automatically to his face, and Kenshin took a side step and slashed hard for his throat.

Somehow the man managed to half-blocked his blow and was only nicked in the throat. But his desperate block tangled his legs and he crashed to the ground with a yell. Kenshin did not waste any time, immediately reversing his grip and plunging his sword down into the man's chest. The tip of the tempered steel slid smoothly into flesh, his hands feeling the impact of the blade hitting the ground behind the man's chest – and something happened. 

One instant he impassively watched the man gurgled against the steel blade lodged in his lungs, and in another instant, the dying man's terrified face was suddenly interposed with another man's face, a man already dead by his hands more than a year ago. _Kiyosato Akira. His steady breath abruptly caught in his throat and horror clawed through his ice-numbed mind. _

The hand that wrenched the blade out in an unsteady jerk was trembling, and so he did not pull it out cleanly. It caught on the man's ribs and callously jerked the body aside. As sudden as the vision had come, it disappeared, leaving only a stranger lying on the dirt, chest rattling with the final exhalation of breath. But the eyes that stared at nothing in death seemed to sear into his memory, gouging another layer into the already existing scar in his mind. 

"Are you all right?"

Kenshin started, looking up into Sakamoto's concerned eyes. He looked away jerkily, not understanding what had happened, why it happened, and not wanting to deal with it now. 

"…it's nothing. Please come with me."

As they ran across the courtyard, three men rushed around a corner of the building. Kenshin had had his katana poised to kill before he recognized the men.

"Himura-san!" One of them shouted. "Come over here, we're leaving this way!" 

Kenshin dropped back to guard their rear as they ran towards a small gate in the side-wall. They had almost reached it when the soldiers nearby finally noticed them and disengaged to block them off. Biting off a curse, Kenshin rounded back, shouting at Sakamoto behind him, "Keep going!" Then he had no more time to think as the soldiers swarmed around them. Ringing sound of steel meeting steel and a grunt right behind him indicated that Sakamoto had not taken his advice. Growling, he resolved to have some choice words for the other man. He knew the older man was more than capable of taking care of himself, but it was still too risky.

There was the faintest sound at the edge of his hearing, something that did not fit with the general mayhem around him. Kenshin stiffened, hastily concentrating his senses to track that anomaly. A Bakufu soldier took advantage of his momentary distraction and slammed against him with a roar. Kenshin deflected his blow, his ears finally catching more of those sounds. Right above him. 

Beside him, Sakamoto dispatched his opponent and roared, "Who's there?!" He yanked out a fallen spear and hurled it at the branches above. 

A sharp sound of ringing metal, and the spear plummeted to the ground. Kenshin backed away from another swing, crouching and soaring up in one powerful bound that took the man under the throat. He yanked out his sword, letting the man fall without another glance, already spinning towards the trees. 

Too high up for Doryusen. Unless… 

Lowering his stance, he leveled his sword close to the ground and turned in one full circle, sweeping the broken pieces of branches and gravels from the ground. His second turn brought the flat of his blade against several pieces of stones that flew towards the trees as fast as if they were loose arrows. 

The barrage spread out to cover a man's moving range, cutting through leaves and breaking branches with the force behind them. A muffled cry sounded from above, and Kenshin caught a glimpse of black shadow rushing between branches. 

He instinctively moved to chase after it – no doubt an omnitsu, though he had no idea whose – when several distinctive, whistling sounds reached his ears, growing louder with unbelievable speed. Heading right for him. 

Shimatta!

Sakamoto Ryoma was right behind him, a few other Ishin Shishi nearby. He could not step away or they would be hit.

In the split second left, he barely managed to scream a warning – "ARROWS!" –then he stepped back and brought his katana into a white-gripped, two-handed arching block. He stopped thinking altogether and relied completely on instincts. It was the only way he could react fast enough.

The first arrow arrived before the echo of his voice died down, a tip of light streaking through the night. Kenshin's body adjusted minutely to the angle and his katana carved a streak of light in a smooth downward curve, the deceptively elegant move bearing all of his strength. Wood and steel blade collided and the arrow shaft broke in two. But...

What the...!

His katana rang like a bell, the incredible resonating force from the arrow impact traveling up his arms, jarring his sword against his palms.

_Bakana! Such strength..._

No time to think. The second streak of light pierced the air for him. Less than two feet...

His fingers spasmed around the hilt, tightening despite the residual force. His katana dipped and curved up, continuing the same circular motion. This time, he gritted his teeth and braced himself for the impact. 

He was not disappointed. The force this second time round nearly tore the katana out of his fingers, forcing him to step back and aside, sword thrown up and behind him to disperse the sheer force of it. He let the tip hit the ground, sliding back another step and whirling around in a circle, to bring the blade up again and slashing with all his strength against the last arrow. The third arrow broke in two, but the metal tip flew on to gash a line across his chest. Sharp pain bloomed, hot droplets spattering his skin, and he staggered sideways to regain his balance.

"Kenshin!"

He heard it at the same time as Sakamoto's shout. One more high-pitched shrill – he could almost feel the air being shredded apart by the sheer speed and strength of this one. 

Everything happened all at once. He heard Sakamoto curse behind him, but the man was already throwing himself to the right, halfway out of the arrow's angle. A scuffle, frightened cries, as the other men scrambled to get away, but he knew they were too late. 

He could feel blood on his palms, skin broken from the friction, blood slicking his hold on his katana. He could not block this one. His duty was to protect Sakamoto Ryoma, but Sakamoto Ryoma was out of the way. 

He sprang aside and the arrow whizzed past shoulder-high, the wind of its passing almost sharp enough to cut skin. An agonized scream and a wet, dull thud from behind him and he knew that the arrow had found a target.

He spun back towards the forest, all of him strung up tight and prepared for the next attack, but there were no more arrows. Sakamoto's sound came behind him, sounds of frantic efforts. The omnitsu was long gone, but the archer had to be somewhere nearby. Kenshin cast his sight all around, looking for possible clear lines of shots through the bamboo forest. There were none, but then he looked up at the small hill behind the forest. And stopped. 

There was a man on the top of the hill, sitting astride a horse, a silhouette outlined against the brighter sky. He could just barely see the figures, but his eyes were sharp enough to see the smooth double curves of a long bow on the man's hands.

He stared transfixed. The sheer distance... it was impossible. Yet, even as he watched, the man lifted the bow over his head in what looked like a languid salute to him. 

_Bastard..._

He fumed impotently as he watched the archer turned his horse around and disappeared down the hill. 

"_Kuso..."_

He turned around, seeing Sakamoto kneeling on the ground, his arms bloody. He was gazing down at a man lying across his lap, body already slack in death. A large hole on his chest still bled, but the arrow itself had pierced clean through his chest and out the back. Kenshin turned and saw it embedded point-first in the ground, eight feet away. The arrow was over a meter long, its shaft as thick as his thumb. 

He felt a chill ran up his back. Even after going clean through a man's body, the force behind the arrow was still strong enough to let it travel another eight feet. Not that he needed any more testaments of the archer's strength, with his bloody palms already a vivid reminder. 

But that was not all. The hill was almost forty meters away, with winds and thick clouds hampering aim. And the four arrows had arrived within a bare second of each other, which meant that the archer had a rate of fire of less than one second for each shot. There was no one he knew of who could accomplish something close to this. He had not even thought that it was possible. 

_What kind of enemy are we facing...?_

He shook his head and knelt in front of Sakamoto, unflinching eyes dropping to look at the man cradled in his arms. The face seemed to stare at him accusingly. That was one more person he failed to protect. But no time for that now. He pulled his gaze away.

"Sakamoto-san."

The other man nodded, his face bleak. He closed the dead man's staring eyes then rose. Together, they ran past the gate, the rest of them circled around him for protection.

They did not stop running until they had reached the top of the overlooking hill. Sakamoto stopped at the place where the archer had stood and looked back at the burning house. The sky was lit with hellish red light and fiery sparks glittered as they were carried by the wind to fall like burning snow. Sounds of fighting still drifted over the night air, but it was receding, replaced instead with strident clangs of night-watches and panicked shouts as the residents of the sleepy town finally woke up to the fire alarm. 

"_K'so_." Kenshin looked at Sakamoto. His face was taut with pain, and the words were pushed out of gritted teeth, as if they hurt. "We are all the same people, all children of _Yamato_. Why do we keep on fighting and killing each other like this? Don't they know there are predators waiting out there to jump on us once we've weaken ourselves?"

Kenshin looked away from him, gazing up at the still burning sky. Unbidden, the face of that soldier that he had mistaken for Kiyosato rose up in his mind. How many men he had killed today had wives and fiancée waiting for them to come back? How many would wait vainly for their loved ones to come back? How many parents would mourn the deaths of their sons? He closed his eyes briefly, a dull burning pain starting to eat through his impassivity. He looked down at Sakamoto Ryoma, still staring at the dying fire and grieving for lives lost – and there were so many things filling his mind, so many things that he wanted to say.

But the only thing he said was, "It's time to go."

***

Across the other side of the hill, a rider on a horse trotted leisurely down the mountain road. Behind them, the final wisps of smoke were just disappearing over the curve of the hill. The man was in no hurry, allowing his mount to pick its own pace. A six-foot horse bow and a half-empty quiver of arrows hung over the side. 

Suddenly he tilted his head and called out to the forest to his right. "Are you hurt?"

A soft female voice replied him, "It's a scratch, Hyou-sama. Nothing serious. Where's Sasaki?"

"He's out hunting." The man motioned towards the forest. "He'd been hungry – he preferred his meat fresh. I don't want him too near the battle, I can't allow him to join in. Yet."

"_Soudesu-ka_." A pause. "Thank you for your help, Hyou-sama, but I believe I could have escaped by myself."

Hyou lifted his head at that, the weak moonlight falling on a lean, angular face. He looked to be around late twenties, with the sun-browned and weathered look of a man used to living outdoors. His straight black hair was worn swept back from his face and forehead, almost reaching his waist. Tall, with a strong enough build, though he did not look nearly as powerful as his feat with the long bow had revealed. 

A handsome enough man, in a hard sort of way, until one saw his eyes. And forgot to notice anything else about him. 

A pair of cat-green eyes, cold, and intense enough to bore holes into the watcher's eyes. They were merciless predator's eyes, giving away the lie to the mask of civility he wore like a camouflage skin. 

He smiled then, and there was reserved danger behind the lazy smirk. "I've told you not to get too close, Shurei." 

A wary silence, then the _kunoichi_ replied in a cautious voice. "I apologize sincerely. I'd thought that the confusion would mask my approach. And…" Her voice dropped, deepened with emotions. "…and I…need to see _him, Hyou-sama. He was so *close*…"_

Hyou gave his horse a gentle kick, urging it to walk faster. "If I hadn't fired those arrows, _he would have killed you. Or caught you."_

"He can't have…"

"You're underestimating him, Shurei," Hyou cut in, his voice still idle but the hard authority veiled underneath silenced the woman. "I know he got you on more than one places. I can hear how you move. I can _smell your blood… And those are just a secondary attack using stones, not the blade itself." _

He smirked. "If he'd concentrated his attention on you, you would be dead. You're not on the same level with him, Shurei. The only way you could get to him would be with good planning, or by trickeries." 

Silence as the woman considered this. She would get it, or she would not. In either case, it was no longer of interest to him. He had far more interesting things to think about. Like a certain young swordsman who had blocked his arrows…

His eyes gleamed with an almost feral pleasure. It had been a while since someone had been able to do that. The last one who had broken his arrows, he had spent four months hunting him down.The man was not so lucky the second time round.

A deep, spine-tingling sensation ran up his body, a prelude to a hunt. First the man with the eyes of a wolf who reeked of blood, and now this one. 

Coming to Kyoto had not been a mistake after all. 

***

NOTES:

1.The reference to Sankyoku and Hiratsuki : if you've read chapter 3 then you'd understand what I meant ^_^. But to put it simply, Okita's special move 'Sankyoku' uses front thrusts that can be turned immediately into a side-slash – hiratsuki. The 3 thrusts themselves are so quick they're perceived almost as one thrust.

2.OK, the arrow thing ^_^. How powerful can an arrow go and how far is the distance? Bow and arrow was the chief weapon of Japanese fighting man for centuries. One particular bow type that they used was the war bow called the 'daikyu', used by warriors on horseback or on foot. It was a longbow with length ranging anywhere from 7 feet 4 inches to 8 feet, although ancient records also showed 9 feet bows. The bow Hyou is using is this 9 ft type, and it requires hellacious strength to use properly ^_^. OK, I may have exaggerated on its range and strength (I tried to find real figures on them, but you try and find information on ancient Japanese bow in bookstores _…) , but who is it that introduced a 4-floor tall giant into RK's world, and a tiny man who could jump the height of a waterfall for his Ryu-Tsui-Sen? For this, I wave the flag of 'Watsuki's Law of Physics' as my defender ;p But if anybody had any better information on Japanese bows, please do tell me! I would love to use the correct information. 

3.Japanese words:

-Yamato = the kingdom of Yamato was an old name for Japan

-Soudesu-ka = is that so

-Omnitsu/Kunoichi = same meaning as ninja


	12. Conspiracies

Chapter 11: Conspiracies

**Chapter 11 – Conspiracies**

The air was chilly this early in the morning. The sky in the east was lightening into the color of deep sapphire, but the sun was still an hour or so from rising. From his position here on top of the hill tower, he could see nothing stirring in the sleeping town beneath. Silence blanketed Kyoto as completely as the film of mist that lent a ghostly, surreal look to the landscape. 

Hawthorne shrugged his overcoat into a more snug position on his shoulders and turned towards his host. A fine, half-transparent curtain of cloth partitioned the middle of the room. Behind it, a faint outline of a seated man can be seen. 

"They were starting to ask questions," Hawthorne said suddenly. "Rutherford wanted to know who raided the arms shipment. He sent my men sniffing after the local informants, pressuring the police. Bloody annoying."

The voice that floated from behind the curtain was mellow and cultured, the words softly spoken yet clear and distinct. "Is he getting any closer to the truth?" 

Hawthorne snorted. "Unless he can revive the dead… unlikely. The hired men _are_ all dead, aren't they?" He demanded, sending a sharp look at the screen. 

"Of course." Serene voice, unruffled. "We do not leave loose ends, Mister Hawthorne."

"Good." Hawthorne took another sip of the fiery brandy, grimacing. "Still, Rutherford is backing Major Jamieson to do whatever is necessary to solve this. That man was like a bulldog – tenacious. He'll keep on digging for scraps and won't let it go. I don't need this. Doesn't matter how fool-proof our setup is – something may still come up."

"Very well. I understand your concern." A soft sound of water and the mild fragrance of tea wafted out from behind the screen. "I shall see to it that there will be no information, however small, to escape to the authorities, or to your embassy men. The city shall be quiet as a tomb… this, I give you my word."

Hawthorne nodded, knowing that the man behind the screen was more than capable of backing his word. The informants would still their tongue – or they would be stilled for them. 

"However," the voice continued, "this is merely a temporary measure. The true step will have to be taken from your side, Mister Hawthorne."

"Mine?"

"Yes. Lack of information is well and good – but the only way for the questions to stop, would be for the questioner to stop asking them."

Hawthorne stood up straighter, staring at the screen. The voice turned soft, compelling. 

"If he continued, where would he stop? Would he be satisfied, or would he continue digging?"

Hawthorne stared down at the half-glass of brandy. His fingers were white against the crystal.

"Careful what you are saying."

"Yes. But I am worried, for your sake."

"For my sake?"

"In one month time, you shall retire to your home country, in full honors of your long service. You will finally be given recognition for all your works. And yet… a lot of things could happen in one month's time. A lot of things could be uncovered, if someone was persistent enough."

Hawthorne stared outside with hooded eyes.

"This relationship we have, have been most beneficial. We do not wish for it to end."

"Are you speaking for yourself, or for your government?" Hawthorne asked flatly.

"You know the value of my words, Mister Hawthorne."

Another long moment of silence, then Hawthorne downed the rest of his drink. "Tell me more." 

Behind the curtain, pale lips curved up in a smile.

***

The outside room was empty, quiet once again. Faint sound of activities drifted from the courtyard below as a horse-drawn carriage was prepared to leave for the British Embassy.

"Interesting conversation you had."

"Ah, welcome back… Hyou. How was your journey?"

Hyou strolled over to the terrace, leaning his hips casually against the railing. "Quite interesting. Things pretty much happened as you predicted they would."

"So… Katsura's Shishi did make their move?"

"Yes."

"And the prisoners?"

"Half of them are saved, including Sakamoto Ryoma. Although if we had pitched in, the result may have turned out different." 

"Be patient. It is not yet time for us to show our forces in the open. I do not wish for any questions directed this way. It is enough to give these little pushes, to set up the important pieces in the board."

A snort. "You planned too much." 

Smile. "We need this alliance in motion between Choshu and Satsuma. This is essential, for our plan to work." A soft sigh. "Having Sakamoto Ryoma, friend of Saigo Takamori, saved by Katsura Kogoro's men… it should help convince Satsuma for the alliance. If nothing else, Sakamoto has always been an honorable man. Owing a debt of life to the Choshu Shishi should give him double the reason to work harder for the alliance."

"Why are we helping them?"

"Helping them? Only in so far as I want them to be together… when the blow is struck." The voice softened, in counterpoint to the spoken words. "When the two birds that are Satsuma and Choshu are struck out of the sky by the stone that was the western allied forces."

Silence, then – "So that was why you're setting that _gaijin_ up."

A nod, barely seen from behind the curtain. "The ambassador Hawthorne mentioned a few interesting things just now. Apparently, the gaijin government of England has finally decided to change sides. The new ambassador, Lawrence Rutherford, is going to start the negotiation with the Choshu Shishi very soon."

"You do realize that this Sakamoto person is up to his neck in this as well."

A hand lifted in languid dismissal. "Yes, but there is no need to worry. If Hawthorne came through for us, any advances he can make will be made null – or worse, backfire on him." 

"Well then…,"Hyou rubbed his chin, "it seems the question now will be – will he do as you wish?" 

A soft smile, hidden behind the curtain. "I have given him… suggestions. Not a difficult thing to do. Ambassador Hawthorne is currently very upset with his own government. He has always been a proponent of our esteemed Shogun. He further believed that Rutherford is here to replace him – and the prestige and honor due him is about to fly out of his grasp and into another man's hands."

"He has everything to lose. And Alistair Hawthorne is a man of many fears."

Hyou gave an amused bark of a laugh. "And you played each of those fears like a lute." 

"Yes, I did." The voice turned contemplative. "Such a strange thing, human nature. Given a choice, most people will choose to believe what they liked, over the truth. But some people, those with more things to lose… they tend to believe things they most feared of happening, to the exclusion of everything else. As if they feared hope itself." Amusement once again seeped into the gently ironic tone. "Why is that, do you think, Hyou?"

The man half-smiled. "_Saa-na_… I leave all the philosophical questionings to you, Matsudaira-san… Sakon. I'm just here to kill."

"So direct you are," the voice murmured. "It may be liberating, to see things in such clean simplicities. But you are no simpleton, Hyou. Of all people, I should know." 

Matsudaira Sakon turned his gaze towards the open verandah. The fog viewed from the open terrace had acquired a pearly luminescence. The milky whiteness was reflected on the eyes that would never see the light of day. 

"What are you thinking?"

Matsudaira smiled into a vision that only his blinded eyes could see. "The future. Our time has finally come." 

"Good. I have had enough of this waiting."

Matsudaira nodded, then continued briskly. "When you leave, please inform Takeda I wish to see him. The family of those men must be properly compensated."

"Those men dead in the ambush? Yes, they do come from your retain. But I wonder, do you really care?"

Matsudaira smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "This is duty, Hyou. Care has nothing to do with it."

***

In any other circumstances, the constant rattles of wheels on gravels, the steady sway of the horse-drawn carriage would have been soothing. As it was, they did not even register in Alistair Hawthorne's mind. Adrian Devonshire sat quietly opposite him, too familiar with Hawthorne's mood to disturb him right now.

_The true step will have to be taken from your side. _

Hawthorne's fingers tightened on the head of his wooden cane. 

Thirty years. Thirty years of service to the government, ten of those in the foreign service. Would it all go to waste?

Three years in this god-forsaken country, lowering himself to deal with these arrogant savages. And what did it all amount to? To be superseded by a man two decades his junior, a man who would not even be in the council if not for his family's backing. To have all he had worked so hard for turn to dust. He was to be recalled, his position taken over by Rutherford, and all the glory of the new policy. Once he returned to London, what does he have? He had always made his preference for Japan's current government well-known, one of the reason why he was appointed to head the Japan embassy three years ago. The ministers back in London were strongly supporting the Shogunate then.

But things change fast, especially in the political world. As trading increased with the resources-rich Satsuma province, and anti-foreigner sentiment mellowed among the ruling heads of the provinces, Parliament support began to shift towards peaceful relations with the former enemies. War was costly, as the two previous short but intense navy assaults on the Satsuma and Choshu provinces had proven. It was money lost that could be better used on other things.

The faction he belongs to had lost popular support, and he had gathered bits and pieces of the news, helpless to change anything from here, as the support slowly shift to their rival. And now it had come to this. The motherland lowering herself to deal with fanatics and rebels, with assassins and terrorists.

In the end, he was betrayed in the name of expediency.

Matsudaira's voice seemed to echo in his mind. That soft, cultured voice that remained serene in any situations. Even when it was whispering murder and treason. 

_If Lawrence Rutherford is to disappear, what then?_

One more month, and he would depart this foreign shore, back to England. He would be knighted then, for life-long service to his country. And then he would be retired in honor. 

An honor empty of meaning, a forced retirement for a man past his prime, given so that he would be out of the way of the new government.

_A lot of things could happen in one month's time._

He had used all his power and influence to be assigned to this backward country, as one of the burgeoning land of trading opportunity. For years, his words were the final voice in the shaping of foreign policies for this land. This was to be his coup, the crowning cap of his thirty-year service and his chance to leave his mark on history, and among his peers. 

None of that would happen if they found out about his involvement with the raided shipment. Not a betrayal, that. He believed it with all his heart. He could not stand aside while weapons were delivered to the rebels, delivered by his own government while he was told to spout lies to the real authority in this land. Better that the weapons disappear. Better that this accursed dealings died still-born before England was dragged any further into this morass.

If Rutherford disappeared... 

There would be a period of chaos. Things took a long time to reach London, and even longer for any kind of official orders to crawl back to Kyoto. In the mean time, as the highest voice of authority, power would return back to him. The intervening time would be enough for the plan that he and Matsudaira Sakon conceived. And once he could present those fools back home with success on a silver platter, it won't matter how he'd obtained it. No one could argue with success.

If Rutherford disappeared...

...

"Can you arrange an accident?"

Adrian understood immediately. Having an unscrupulous right-hand man had its advantages. 

"On the risk of sounding overconfident, I have to say it's easy. We have quite a few channels outside, so we could do it ourselves. I could vouch for the loyalty of most of our men. But we would have to take care that Jamieson didn't catch wind of it."

"Oh?" Hawthorne stroked his beard. "Our famously impartial chief of security actually have a political preference?"

"I beg to differ, Sir. He's Rutherford's man, through and through. His family was an old retainer of the Rutherford family, and Lawrence Rutherford personally sponsored him into the military, and subsequently the intelligence and foreign affairs department. If he heard of this, he would definitely warn Rutherford, even try to put a stop to it."

Adrian paused. "Actually, the best way would be to ask Matsudaira's side to arrange a 'leak' to the streets. I'm thinking something along travel arrangement. It should be easy, and it would look a lot more natural."

Hawthorne nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe... It would give him something to hold over us though, even if we have a few handles on him as well..."

"Once the word is out, the rest is almost inevitable. There won't be any shortage of 'patriots' who'll welcome the chance to kill a high-ranking 'gaijin'. I think we can even ask Matsudaira to make sure some of the more organized gangs are informed. Just to be sure it's done properly."

The inside of the carriage was silent aside from the soft tapping of Hawthorne's fingers on the wooden head of his cane. Then -

"Ishin Shishi."

Adrian blinked, "Excuse me sir, I don't quite..."

"Blame it on Ishin Shishi," Hawthorne turned his head to look at Adrian, the coldness in his grey eyes giving his half-smile a chilling look. 

"The man himself said he's going to meet with some Choshu or Satsuma Ishin leaders. What better way to botch up the deal than by having the ambassador of England killed by the trusted allies? I'm sure it can be arranged, can't it? You told me there are several opposing factions inside those Ishin Shishi themselves. Any of the more extreme ones that we can make use of?"

Adrian smiled, "Yes, sir, I see what you mean. And yes, it can be done. In fact, I know of just the faction that will be perfect for the job. I think Matsudaira will be delighted to arrange it." On seeing Hawthorne's questioning look, Adrian added, "Some personal thing that happened in the past. A long story."

Hawthorne snorted with some amusement, "Be sure to tell me next time, but for now I think I'll take that afternoon nap. Make the arrangement with Matsudaira the next time you see him again."

"Yes, sir." Adrian paused, then added a bit diffidently, "If I may suggest, this will also be a golden opportunity to get rid of one other thorn on our side."

Hawthorne frowned at him. "You mean Jamieson?"

Adrian nodded. 

"If you think you can arrange it, then do it. Won't it look suspicious?"

"Not really. If Lawrence is going somewhere, he'll need guards, and Jamieson usually lead them personally. His replacement, Lieutenant Brighton, is young enough to be easily handled." 

The carriage slowed down as it approached their destination. The high walls of the Embassy could be seen from the carriage windows. 

"Fine, then do it." 

"Sir. How should we report it to London?"

Hawthorne smiled indulgently. "Report? We're the final authority on what news goes on the ship to London. Just enough...evidence...to convince the old fools back home."

The carriage stopped and Adrian step down first, holding the door open for Hawthorne. Hawthorne strode forward without a backward glance. There was no doubt in his mind that Adrian would accomplish all those tasks with the professional perfection that had made the young secretary so valuable to him. It was, after all, the reason why he still kept him by his side, despite his past and that troublesome event two years ago.

***

The rescue team reached the mansion as false dawn break. The place was deserted and there was almost no one about as Sakamoto was whisked with as minimum fuss as possible to the back garden. Katsura Kogoro was waiting quietly at the hall, accompanied by two of his guards. 

"Yo, Kogoro." Sakamoto grinned a casual greeting at him. 

Katsura's tense expression relaxed at seeing them. "Ryoma, are you all right?"

"Aa. Thanks to your help here." 

Katsura frowned at the blood-splattered clothing. "Do you need to see a physician?"

"No need. But I need to talk to you. Preferably now."

At Katsura's nod, Himura and the rest of the guards peeled off and left through the side exit. The two guards with Katsura bowed and followed them off. 

Katsura stepped inside a small pavilion and waved Sakamoto in. Several jars of sake sat on the marble table, wisps of steam escaping in the cold air. Sakamoto made a gratified sound and made a beeline for it. 

Katsura waited until half of the jars were empty before speaking.

"Who were they?"

Sakamoto shrugged. "Soldiers. Bakufu's dogs. It's over."

  
"Did they interrogate you?"

Sakamoto smiled mirthlessly. "No. But Kaishuu came. You remember him." At Katsura's nod he continued. "Maybe he was supposed to interrogate me, but if he was, he did a piss poor job of it." 

He slurped his cup noisily. "But in any case, interrogation is not necessary. Kaishuu told me I'm black-listed now. A warrant is out for my head. I'm now officially a rebel – an enemy of the government." A disdainful snort. "So much for me remaining civilian. Good thing I've already passed my company on to my trusted men. They'd take good care of it."

Katsura grimaced lightly. "That was unfortunate. You will have to stay in hiding now, like the rest of us. And that will hinder some things. But no matter." Katsura gave Sakamoto an ironic smile. "Welcome to the company."

He waited politely for the other man to stop chortling before continuing. "You've seen the weapons?"

"Ah, yes." Sakamoto sagged against the railing, head leaning back to stare up at the pavilion's ceiling. When he next spoke again, it was rueful. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm the one that said they can be trusted."

Katsura's shoulders slumped minutely. 

"So… it's really British weapons?"

Sakamoto grunted, hauling himself upright to look at Katsura. "There're no writings on them, just numbers. They're pretty careful about it, but I've seen quite a few western weapons in my time in the Naval Academy. I can almost say for sure that they're British made. The French's products have a slightly different build to them."

"Could it have been obtained by a third party?"

"Possibly, for the gatling-guns. But the Armstrong cannon is only produced by Britain, and considering how powerful that weapon is, they're pretty determined to keep it out of the black market. Basically by shooting anyone who tried to buy or smuggle them illegally," Sakamoto's voice was dry. "Very effective method, that. I heard it worked pretty well."

"Then…"

Sakamoto gave a deep sigh. "But on the last negotiation in Nagasaki they promised us a sample of the Armstrong cannon, around this time of the year. How big a coincidence is that? How many brand new Armstrong cannons do you think are hanging around unattached to a ship and packed for shipment? I hate to say it, but I think there's a distinct possibility that cannon was the one meant for us."

"So," Katsura's voice was disquietingly calm, "the alliance is null?"

"Maybe. But… can you trust me one more time?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Wait a few days for me. I'm going to make an appointment with the representative they said is coming to Kyoto. He should be here already. I want to hear what he has to say."

Katsura's brows drew together in a frown. "Are you sure? If they have indeed gone back on their word to us, then they won't hesitate to turn you in to the government, or even kill you. They should know you're wanted."

"It's so nice to be important," Sakamoto grumbled sarcastically, but he gave Katsura a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. The moment I feel something's not right, I'm out of there. I'm not going to be all brave and heroic and get myself killed." 

"But seriously Kogoro. There's something not quite right here. And I'm not just saying that because it's my hide on the line. It doesn't make sense for them to go back on their word like this. You might disagree, but my gut feeling says there's something more to this than just the surface appearance."

Katsura was silent as he considered it. All the indications seemed to point to the British betraying them, yet… If this alliance broke up, then they have no hope of overthrowing the Bakufu. They would have to secure another alliance for weapons, it that was even possible. Bakufu was not likely to sit still and left them on their own for long. 

Maybe it was foolish to grasp at a handful of straws, to depend only on one man's gut feelings, but the alternative was much worse. Sometimes one simply had to take a leap of faith. 

"All right," Katsura said slowly as the other man's face broke into a wide grin, "have a talk with them. If they even want to talk with you still. But I want you to bring Himura with you."

"Eh? Kenshin?" Sakamoto's delight died down as he scrutinized his friend. "Don't you need him with you? I heard it hasn't been all that…peaceful…around you lately. "

"For the time being you may need him more than I do." 

"Do you think it will come to that?"

Katsura gave a heavy sigh, the first time in the conversation he openly showed his misgivings. "I don't know. I hope not, but if it does come to a fight, then I trust no one better to bring you out of it safely."

Sakamoto rubbed his stubbled chin absently, then gave a decisive nod. "Alright. I'll bring Kenshin with me. To hell with them… if they're going to put a prize on my head, I might as well bring Ishin Shishi's strongest fighter with me."

He suddenly changed the topic. "Does the others know yet?"

Katsura caught on immediately. "About the British? No. I don't think they're ready yet for this. The whole business with Satsuma is already hard enough to swallow, I want to get them used to one thing before revealing another."

"Would they guess who had sold the shipment to Bakufu?"

"I told them that it was probably French. I think they would believe me, there was no reason for them not to. You, Shinsaku, and myself are the resident experts on gaijin weapons. Besides, the French people do have the ability to do sell this shipment. As long as no one finds out about the details of our discussion with the British, then they won't guess."

"Keeping your cards close to your chest, eh, Katsura?" Sakamoto half-grimaced at him. "Don't get me wrong. I agree with your analysis. I just don't want to think about the kind of shit that's going to fly once you do decide to tell them."

"I know." Katsura brooded. "Believe me. If there's anything even worse than alliance with Satsuma-han, then it's alliance with _gaijin. Which is why I want to get some concrete proof of advantages from this alliance, before letting the others in on this."_

Sakamoto nodded. "The weapons."

"_Hai. The weapons. Which we may not get after all."_

"I'll handle it. Do you have a line into the British Embassy? It's probably best for me not to show my face publicly there. It's too obvious."

"Yes, I do. Give me two days. I'll pass on the message for you."

***

Okita Souji, Captain of Shinsengumi First Troop, weaved his way through the crowded market street easily. He was carrying a big sake drum on his left hand, freshly bought for the communal dinner with the other captains later. He walked slowly, partly because of the still-healing wound on his left leg, partly because he was simply enjoying the simple outing too much to hurry. 

The sound of stall owners hawking their goods filled the air, clashing with the sound of live food animals. A sound of commotion in front, then a few boys zipped past laughing, an apple clutched in each of their hands. He hid a smile, stepping aside in time to let a portly middle-aged man pass, puffing and cursing at the boys.

He passed the British Embassy, frowning a bit at the evidence of new fire burns on the fence and gates. A faint feeling of guilt stirred at that. Not for the casualties, which had been low, but for the fact that it had happened in the first place. Shinsengumi was supposed to be the protector of Kyoto, guarding her against unrests, yet there were so many things that they could not prevent from happening. They were stretched too thin to be everywhere at once, and Bakufu had not allowed them to expand further. There were whispers that some officials were afraid they were becoming too powerful, too influential, uncontrollable. 

Okita shook his head at that. Everything was politics these days. He knew there was a very good reason that he did not want to be anything higher than just a Gumichou.

  
And then there was that conversation he had with Hijikata-san a few days ago. 

_"Some parts of the government are looking to find faults in us. Faults that they can use to disgrace and weaken us."_

_ _

_Okita stared at Hijikata's lean profile, outlined against the open verandah. "But why?"_

_ _

_"Why… because we've been growing too much in the last year, too fast and too aggressively. Ever since we helped bring down Choshu attack on the Royal Palace, our stature has increased, but we've also made enemies. And the bad thing is, we don't know who they are."_

_ _

_Okita shook his head. "They want to get rid of us because we're a threat to their power? Even though we're practically in the verge of civil war?"_

_ _

_"To them, nothing is more important than their own position."_

_ _

_"Kondou-san is under great pressure to take responsibility for the break-in two weeks ago, and the subsequent spill of vital information."_

_ _

_Okita bowed his head. "I'm sorry."_

_ _

_"No, it's not your fault. We all fell for the ruse, including the officials who called us to protect their houses. But to protect themselves, they might force Kondou-san to take full responsibility. And to shield us, Kondou-san might just do that. " _

_ _

_"Masaka… harakiri…?"_

_ _

_"The timing was incredibly bad for us. They've been looking for a weakness, and they've found it.The only thing we can do now is to find the traitor. It may not be enough to take all the burden off Kondou-san, but it may reduce the punishment."_

__

Okita sighed. Find the traitor. Easy to say, but where could you find him or her? 

A sudden slowing of traffic in the front, a blocking concentration of passers-by, caught his attention. A few burnt out husks of buildings stood beside the road, the devastation recent though enough time had passed for the inevitable crumbling debris to be swept aside to clear the road. 

A handful of men and women were rummaging listlessly among the debris, possibly the previous owners of the buildings. One young woman in a soot-streaked kimono sat on a fallen beam, staring at the ruin with bleak face. She looked familiar. 

Okita blinked. He did know her. He hastened towards her. 

"Matsubara-san."

The young woman slowly turned to give him an empty stare. Her normally pretty face was blank and pale.

"Matsubara-san," Okita said gently, "it's me, Okita-desu. What happened?"

The girl's eyes finally flickered with recognition. "Okita…san?" She gave a half-aborted wave towards the ruin. "I… my home. They told me it was burned, but… I didn't know…" Her head lowered and her half-loose hair fell to cover her face. "My parents…they're inside when it…" Tears started to trickle down her cheeks.

"Matsubara-san…" Okita started to apologize, feeling guilty for causing her more pain, when another girl who had been rummaging in the ruin hurried over to her. 

"Ayako-san, daijobu?" The girl gave Ayako a gentle hug. "Don't cry, you promised you will try to be strong, didn't you?" She used a clean corner of her kimono to wipe the Ayako's tears as the girl hugged her back, shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. "It's all right. Just stay with me in my house for the moment. I'll help you work it out, alright?" She looked up and Okita was struck by the warm gentleness in her eyes. She bowed to him, "I'm sorry to intrude."

"No, that's alright. You're…?"

"_Hai, my name is Kawasaki. __Douzo yoroshiku onegaishimasu."_

"Ah, Okita-desu."

"I know." Kawasaki gave him a small smile. 

"Eh?"

"Ayako-san told me about you. And you are rather… famous."

"Oh, is that so?" Okita did not quite know what to say to that. 

Kawasaki put her arms around Ayako. "Ayako-san just got back home. I had informed her sooner, but someone called Yamazaki-san wouldn't let her go until today."

Yamazaki-san? Ah, he must have interrogated all of the staff at the headquarter. That means Matsubara must be clean.

"Will she be all right?"

Kawasaki looked down at Ayako. "My family and I will take care of her. We live just down the road, at the cloth shop. We've been neighbours for a while, we'll take care of our own."

Okita turned to go, but a strange impulse made him turned around and called back to the departing girls. "I'm sorry, Kawasaki-san."  
  


"Eh?"

"May I be so bold… can I ask your given name, please?"

Kawasaki looked slightly startled. Okita hastily added, "Only if you don't mind of course." 

She bit her lips, hesitated, then in a soft voice – "Himiko-desu."

Okita walked back home with an extra spring in his steps even though he could not quite figure out why. 

***

Okita slid open the door to the main dining hall and cheerfully announce himself. "_Tadaimaa… ara_?"

There was no one in the room except for one orange and white-striped tabby lazing in the open verandah opposite the entrance. It turned its unblinking green eyes at him.

"_Meowr_?"

"Aah…" Okita plunked down the drum of sake and sank against a beam. "I wonder where everybody is…," he mumbled to himself. 

The sounds of approaching footsteps lifted his head, and he brightened on seeing a certain tall, thin Captain he had not seen for quite a while. A rather dusty, rather worn and, judging from the scowl, rather seriously aggravated man. 

"Saitou-san. Welcome back."

Saitou Hajime of Third Troop Shingsengumi gave a short grunt in reply and sank down into seat opposite Okita. "Where's everyone?" he asked without preamble.

"Funny, that was the first thing I asked too."

Saitou gave him an irritated look, but Okita was used to that. He poked his head out of the room and waved to a passing servant. "Excuse me, can you tell me where all the other captains went to?"

The man bowed. "A messenger came just now. It seems that there was a fight in an old army barrack outside of town last night. Some of the captains went to investigate."

"Arigatou." Okita smiled at Saitou. "There you go."

Saitou nodded and busied himself taking off his swords. Okita broke the clay seal of the sake jar with a swift, practised punch and offered it to Saitou. The older man accepted the offer and drank straight from the jar. 

"So are you having any luck?" Okita asked quietly, his voice gone serious despite the still smiling face. 

Saitou wiped his mouth. "Good sake."

Okita beamed. "The best, all the way from Kanagawa."

Saitou handed the jar to Okita and answered his first question. "The chase will take more time than I'd like. There're a lot of false trails laid in. Ieda Yasuhiro is one slippery bastard. Cunning as a fox too. He kept his own hands far away from the dirty actions, which makes it that much harder to trace it to him."

"But you're sure it's him?" Okita sipped the sake.

"Yes. Three separate sources named him. But they're criminals and cheap labor workers, their words aren't going to weigh anything."

"I think… time is running out."

Saitou looked at Okita sharply. "What made you say that?"

Okita merely shook his head. Hijikata-san most probably would inform Saitou about the tightening noose around the Shinsengumi, but until he did, it was not Okita's place to say anything further.

When it was obvious Okita was not going to reveal anything more, Saitou grunted irritably. "I had a lousy day today. For some reason, our informants are being even more skittish than usual."  
  


"Oh?" Okita blinked at him. "Any particular reason?"

"No one was saying anything… except that I had the sense something scared them all spitless." Saitou scowled down at his sake cup. The expression was even more forbidding than usual. "Not even a good beating helped. And I wasn't pulling punches."

"That's… worrying." Okita did not like this. They did not need another trouble on top of what was already brewing. "Maybe we should talk to the others when they come back. See if anyone has heard of anything." 

Saitou grunted non-committally. He was not encouraged. The third troop's net of information was better than most of the others. And if he found nothing, the rest would probably be no better. He just wished that there were something more concrete that he could latch on. This feeling in the air, the indefinable _something_ that had his hackles up for weeks was driving him into murderous frustration. 

Okita left to get more cups. After the door slid closed, Saitou turned his gaze on the cat still lying on the verandah. It watched him with what looked like controlled wariness. Its whiskers twitched.

Saitou narrowed his gaze and slowly pulled his lips back, letting just a hint of teeth through. 

The tabby let out a startled screech and shot out of the verandah in a streak of orange. 

Saitou smirked and sat on the space the cat just vacated, then went to work sharpening his katana. He had a feeling he would be needing it very soon.

***


	13. Prelude to ruin

Chapter 12: Prelude to Ruin

The air above the wide complex of British Embassy rang with the sound of a single rifle shot, scaring off the sparrows that were resting on the roofs. Down on the open yard behind the buildings, space had been cleared to create a large empty area sprinkled with sand. At the end of the area, against the wall, several thick wood blocks had been set against the wall. Each of them had a meter-wide paper with crude hand-drawn picture of a human torso and head. The rough targets were riddled with holes, mostly centered around the head or the center chest area. 

One of the paper picture was fresh and unblemished except for a tiny hole centered on the left chest. Straight where a human heart would have been. 

Jamieson lowered his rifle, wisp of smoke smelling of distinctive gunpowder still escaping from its end barrel. 

A clapping sound from the side made him turn around. Adrian Devonshire put down his hands and nodded towards the target. "You are still as excellent a marksman as ever, Major."  

Jamieson pulled out the trigger lock and inserted a fresh bullet, careful of the hot metal chamber. "Thank you, but you can do this simple target practice just as well, if not better."

Adrian sauntered closer, "Yes, unmoving target is not much challenge, is it? Back in England, at least we have the hunts to practice on live targets. One can easily get rusty here."

Jamieson lined up the loaded rifle against the target. "I understand you've been practicing on birds." Another loud bang, the rifle bucking in his hands, his shoulder steady against the familiar recoil of the weapon. A new hole bloomed in the target, the center of the forehead. 

"As I said, not much of a challenge." Adrian's smile was coolly polite, but as always, it never reached his grey eyes. "A fox or a deer, now… they know the fear of the hunt. A deer's fleet foot and a fox's cunning made for a far more interesting chase."  

"Jamie."

Jamieson looked up to see Isabelle descending the steps leading towards the open courtyard. Adrian cocked his head towards the girl. "If you'll excuse me, I'll leave the two of you now. I still have some business to finish." 

Jamieson watched Adrian murmured a greeting to Isabelle, which the girl returned politely. She was wearing a simple floral dress and the hem swished around her ankles as she skipped towards him. 

"There you are. I've been looking for you all morning," she greeted him cheerfully. "Target practice, Jamie?"

He nodded. "Have to keep on practicing or…"

"…or your skill will dull." Isabelle finished for him, smiling impishly. "I know, you've just been telling me that since I'm old enough to walk. Careful, you're going to sound like an old man before you even have grey hair."

"Is that any way to talk to your elder?" Jamieson demanded with mock seriousness. For a moment, Isabelle looked as if she wanted to stuck a tongue out at him. Jamieson had a sudden flash of a dirt-smudged girl-child, dress torn and muddy from a forbidden wild ride with her favourite horse down the estate lands. This young woman in front of him, while she had learnt more reserve, was not that far away from the wild and unrestrained child. 

"I do that to my father all the time, and he doesn't seem to mind. Anyway, I have a favor to ask…"

Six years apart or not, Jamieson could still recognize the look in Isabelle's eyes. "What are you up to this time?"

Isabelle smiled at him very sweetly. "I haven't practice for so long, my aim's rusty. Can I do target practice with you, Jamie?"

"You want to fire my gun?!"

"What's wrong with that? I'll have you know I've been practicing on my own in our old estate, and I can shoot as well as any man there."

"All right, you can stop bristling at me now," Jamieson said ruefully. "I promise we'll practice together sometime, but not right now, all right?" 

The mulish look on Isabelle's face was decidedly familiar. "Why not?"

"Because your father's office overlooked this courtyard. And if his sentiment has not changed over these years, he would have my hide for letting you touch a gun."

"Oh." Isabelle considered that solemnly. "Very well, I will let you off this time." Jamieson had to bit his tongue to stop himself from doing something foolish. "But the next time he went on a trip outside, I will come looking for you."

"Yes, of course," Jamieson replied hurriedly. He needed a change of subject, fast. "Tell me, how is it that you and Chris ended up coming here? In the last letter I had, I was given to understand the two of you would be staying with your aunt's family." 

Isabelle gave him a dirty look. "You're being very obvious, Jamie."

Jamie gave her his most winsome smile. "Does it work?"

The girl gave an indelicate snort, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Jamieson took that to be a good sign and continued, "I know the report back home had underestimated the state of unrest here, but still… an ambassador usually do not bring his children along with him. And Christopher is still so young."

"I know." Isabelle's smile looked slightly forced. A small silence stretched before she sighed and relented. "Actually, one of the reasons was because I insisted." She ignored the surprised look Jamieson gave her and continued moodily, "Also, right now Kyoto is probably safer for me and Chris than London."

"What do you mean?"

Isabelle shrugged. "You know that my father's relationship with my uncles and aunts are not very good. In fact, it's atrocious. Most people think that with my mother gone, Chris and I are going to be the only inheritors of the Rutherford family's wealth."

"Are you saying that they would actually try to…"

"Get rid of me and Chris? Definitely. And father must have thought so too, or he wouldn't have bring us here, no matter how much I begged."

Jamieson did not know what to say to that. He had expected something along the line, but what he had not expected was the depth of understanding the girl in front of him had in the matter. At that moment, Isabelle looked older than her sixteen years. "'belle, it may not be what you think…"

"Oh stop, Jamie." Isabelle tossed her head back, glaring at Jamieson. "I know you think that I'm still a child to be coddled. Father certainly thinks so, but _he's_ not the one who had to live with those… _vultures_ back home. The way they looked at Chris and me…" Her face was taut with anger. "He was going to dismiss my words, but I told him that if he leaves without us, the next time he comes back, mother won't be the only one who'll be waiting for him in the graveyard." 

"Isabelle!" Jamieson thundered. "That is quite enough."

The girl half jumped, staring at him. Staring at the unfamiliar bleakness in those blue eyes, Jamieson cursed himself for not seeing. It was high time to remember that he was no longer talking to a ten-year-old chit of a girl. 

"I'm sorry," he said more gently. "But 'belle… you know your father loved you and Chris more than anything in the world. Your saying that, it must had hurt him badly."

"…I know." It was a while before Isabelle looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Don't… tell him about this, Jamie. I wasn't thinking."

"'belle, your mother…"

"I know. It wasn't his fault." 

The reply was just a tad too quick, too light for Jamieson's liking. But before he could push, Isabelle had pushed herself up. "Well," she said with a cheer that sounded slightly forced to Jamieson, "I had better left you to your practice. Unless you would like an impartial judge?" 

Jamieson snorted. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not have you standing here giving me a running commentary on how badly I'm doing."

Isabelle smiled a much more sincere smile, batting her lashes at him. "Would I do that, dear Jamie?"

"Oh yes, you would," Jamieson's reply was very dry. "Go on now girl, find someone else to disturb."

He watched her traipsed back into the house, before sighing and leaning his rifle against the wall. The hot afternoon sun was starting to make him feel thirsty and he set off for the kitchen for some water. A group of female servants were busy bringing out vegetables from woven baskets held by one ole grandmother and two younger women. They must be the regulars who carried and sold groceries to the household. 

As he poured himself a cup, he watched the women packing up to leave. However he noticed the old woman struggling with her basket of vegetables. He moved in and lent a hand under the basket.

"Be careful there." 

The old woman cackled, "Ah, thank you young man. Such a good youngster, it's so hard to find one like you these days." She grabbed Jamieson's hand and patted it with familiarity that was prerogatives of the old. "Your parents are so lucky."

Jamieson smiled slightly, discretely trying to pry his hands off without being offensive. But then he stopped, his gaze turning sharp and piercing. 

The old woman was peering up at him, still smiling brightly, but the eyes that met Jamieson's were as piercingly intense and with none of the previous slightly muddled look. A small curve to the lips, and the innocent smile turned into something else. 

The 'old woman' patted his hands again and under Jamieson's eyes she transformed once again into an ordinary old vegetable seller. She called and herded the two younger sellers towards the exit, and they left together, bowing repeatedly at Jamieson. 

Jamieson nodded and left the servants with their errant. It was only after he was safely ensconced in his room did he open his palm to gaze at the small message tube slipped expertly during the handshake into his hand. 

_Vegetable seller, eh?_

With a grimace, he extracted the thin paper inside. The message was very short and to the point. 

_-- Tonight, midnight. Behind Marubeni. –_

It was not signed. There was no need. 

Marubeni. It was a restaurant four blocks from the British Embassy. 

Jamieson sighed. It would seem that he would not be sleeping early tonight. 

***

After going into the house, Isabelle went to hunt down Chris for some company, but the boy was sound asleep in his bed. Disappointed, she turned for the kitchen to see if anything was ready yet, but hesitated when she passed by her father's office door. She could hear faint rustlings of paper from inside. 

She had not seen her father for the last three days, except during breakfast and dinner. The hand that was raised to knock on the door hesitated. What if he was busy? 

Well, she wouldn't know until she knocked. So she knocked. 

A muffled voice answered from within. "Come in."

Upon her entrance, Lawrence Rutherford looked from his stack of documents. "Ah, Isabelle. Come in, come in. I haven't seen you much lately, have I?"

"Well," Isabelle demurred, "_you said it, not I."_

Lawrence laughed softly. "Yes. I'm sorry for being away so much lately. What can I say? There're a lot of things happening in the embassy these days."

Isabelle shrugged, trying to appear non-challant. "That's all right." She wandered near the wooden cabinets arranged on one wall of the room. 

"Still carrying this everywhere?" Isabelle half-chided Lawrence, looking at the rows of porcelain bottles arranged in a neat row inside the wooden cabinet. The palm-sized bottles were rounded at the bottom with a long, thin neck. Tiny pictures depicting animals and sceneries decorated the bodies, and their top was either sealed shut with wax or stuffed with red cloth.  

"Well," Lawrence replied absently, "if I can be said to have a hobby, you can say that collecting Chinese medicines is it. A Chinese friend of mine back in China is a very knowledgeable physician. He gave me most of those medicines. And their bottles of course. Lovely, aren't they?"

Isabelle's eyes was attracted by one of the bottles, a delicate thing in blue porcelain with tiny patterns that almost looked like fine cracks, but upon closer examination was a part of the bottle itself. A red bird-like drawing decorated the little bottle, and the top was sealed with a silvery cloth, the only one of its kind. "What's in this one?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the silver top and red-bird thing."

"Silver...? _No, don't open it !"_

"What?" Isabelle looked up, startled. She had pulled out the cloth and a nut-sized black ball of something was lying on her palm. 

"Oh, Isabelle," Lawrence groaned. "Stay there, don't move." Lawrence hurried over to her, snapping on a glove in one hand before carefully handling the piece of medicine back into the bottle. He very deliberately re-sealed the bottle, then turned to Isabelle with a rather worried frown. 

"Alright, now you are going to go and wash your hand *very* thoroughly. Use scrubbing stone and throw away all the water you used."

"What's in there?" Isabelle asked, puzzled. 

"Poison."

"WHAT?!" 

Lawrence smiled at her reassuringly, patting her with his ungloved hand. "Don't worry. It won't poison by touch alone. You have to swallow it. But I don't want you to take in any traces of it by accident."

Isabelle pointed accusingly at the harmless-looking bottles. "You keep *poisons* too?"

Lawrence pointed at two bottles sealed with wax. "Only a few. Those two are poisons. Strong ones. But this one that you took out... it's not exactly poison. Except that...well, you'd probably end up like you *were* poisoned."

"Faaath-eer.. you're certainly not making me feel any better." Isabelle glowered at him.

"I'm sorry," Lawrence sighed, opening the door and steering Isabelle towards the indoor washroom, purpose-built for this part of their embassy. As he helped Isabelle scrubbed her palm pink with a washing stone, he explained, "It was a very strong medicine. Very strong. I didn't actually want anything that dangerous with me, including the poisons, but that friend of mine insisted that they might come in handy one day. Especially the little black pill in the phoenix bottle. Oh, that red bird was supposed to be a phoenix by the way."

Isabelle glanced at him. "Phoenix... as in the bird with eternal life?"

Lawrence nodded. "My friend called that medicine a 'last hope', the last resort only to be taken on extreme circumstances. Though he strongly advise to exhaust all other options before taking that one. That medicine isn't really very safe."

"I thought you said it's a poison," Isabelle complained. "No poison is safe."

Before Lawrence could reply, a knock on the washroom door was followed by Adrian's soft voice. "Mr. Rutherford, sir? The escort is ready for our departure."

"Oh yes, I'll be a minute."

"You're going again," Isabelle said without looking at him.

"Honey," Lawrence looked down at his daughter helplessly, "I'm sorry. I promise I'll be back early tonight, all right?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Fine. Don't keep the escort waiting."

Lawrence harrumphed. "Escort. I'm not complaining, mind you, but I wish for once I can be assigned to some country where I don't need to be guarded whenever I go out. Made me wish I could go incognito again like I did back in Shanghai."

Isabelle giggled, eyes widening, "You mean you disguised yourself? You sneaked away from your guards?"

"Well," Lawrence hedged, "it's just a few times. Keep in mind that I was younger then. And no, I will not hear anything of the sort from you, young lady."

"Me?" She gave him her most innocent smile. 

Lawrence sighed. "I'm serious, Isabelle. Don't try to go out unescorted here. Kyoto is dangerous, really dangerous. If I'd known how bad it's going to be, I'd never have allowed you and Chris to come along with me, no matter what you said."

"Oh, fine," Isabelle sighed. "I know, Jamie told me the same thing only about every other day. But honestly father, it's so boring in here! There's absolutely nothing to do."

Lawrence hugged her lightly. "Next Friday our new shipment is going to arrive by the river. I'm going to go there and an extra translator will be very helpful. Bring Chris along then, we might as well make it into a family outing."

"You promised?" Isabelle beamed at him, making Lawrence smile back. "Yes, I promise."

 Another knock sounded. 

"Coming, Adrian."

"Go on, father, you're going to be late," Isabelle pushed him playfully. "See you later." She pensively watched her father walking away with Adrian, then shook her head once. Determined not to let the loneliness creep into her again, she purposely trotted towards the kitchen.  

Outside, as Lawrence boarded the carriage, he tapped Adrian's soldier. "Remind me to bring Isabelle and Chris next week, when we go to check the new arms shipment." 

Adrian smiled. "Of course, sir."

***

A faraway clang of the night round marked the time as three hours past midnight. The streets were dead and empty, the silence not disturbed by even the sound of night animals. The thin slice of moon overhead was shrouded in dark clouds more often than not, casting the alleys into deeper shadows than usual. 

Jamieson hurried along one such dark alley, a black hooded coat concealing his face and melding him into the night. The coat he wore was a Japanese _manto_, not Western overcoat, and he wore sandals instead of army boots. Outwardly there was nothing that would give him away as a foreigner, except possibly his unusual height. But there was nothing he could do about that.  

He turned a corner and reached a stand of weeping willows by a narrow canal. A sweep revealed the place to be completely deserted. Jamieson settled back and wait. 

He did not have to wait very long. Soon ears sharpened from a life-long passion for hunting caught the soft threads of straw sandals on dirt. 

_"Jamieson-san?"_

Jamieson turned, heart thudding from the sudden break of silence. A man stepped out of an alley in front of him. The lantern he held in front of him was barely strong enough to light the patch of ground in front of him. Deliberate, no doubt. 

He tensed as the man approached, right hand resting on the butt of his revolver, carried concealed under the coat. He only relaxed when the man was near enough for him to recognize his face. He had seen him in previous meetings.     

He asked in Japanese, _"Is Katsura-san with you?"_

The man shook his head, turning and gesturing towards the alley. Another man walked out, shorter and stouter across the shoulders than him. But he walked with a smooth, fluent grace that immediately marked him as a skilled swordsman in Jamieson's experienced eyes.

"Major Jamieson?" Jamieson started at the English words, spoken with an accent, but pronounced cleanly enough. The swordsman bowed slightly at him. "I am Sakamoto Ryoma. Pleased to meet you."

_Ah. He had heard of him. And heard of the rumors concerning him. _

"Arthur Jamieson. The pleasure is mine, Sakamoto-san. I believe I missed you the last time our ambassador visited Osaka Marine Academy."

Sakamoto grinned. "Yes, that was before I was demoted, wasn't it? Never mind, old history."

Sakamoto Ryoma used to be an instructor in the newly-established, prestigious Marine Academy. Jamieson wondered how openly he should ask the question, then decided to go right out and ask. "Katsu Kaishuu-san spoke very well of you. May I ask what events brought you to the Ishin Shishi's side?"

"What you really want to ask is - am I standing in both boats at once, isn't it?" Sakamoto's eyes glinted with a hint of steel for the first time. "I would think that Mr. Roschenchild had informed you very well where my loyalty lies. He'd certainly been busy supplying my company with arms."

Jamieson inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the hit. Roschenchild was the Directing Manager of Nagasaki branch office of Thomas Glover Pte Ltd. The company was the source of many valuable information to the British Embassy. 

"In any case," Sakamoto continued, "I believe your own intelligence has already given you material about me. Whatever I said on behalf of myself is suspect, but you can trust your own agents." He grinned again, his eyes locked unflinching on Jamieson. "And I think, you've already decided to trust me for this meeting, or you'd have just turn around and left."

Jamieson raised his assessment of the man a notch and smiled despite himself. Sakamoto Ryoma was almost refreshingly direct for a Japanese. "Very well. Then let's talk."

"Let's," Sakamoto agreed. "I'm here on behalf of Katsura Kogoro, and I shall negotiate for him. He told me to ask you when the shipment promised could be delivered."

Jamieson was ready, but he doubted the Japanese would like the answer. "The original shipment had arrived here a month ago, but it was taken during one of the local raids. I presume you didn't know anything about it?" 

He was right. Sakamoto did not look happy, though it was indicated by little more than a slight tightening of his eyes. "No, I didn't. I can assure you it's not us. Do you know who did it?" 

"No. We're even less familiar with the local groups, I was hoping you have some idea."

"I'm sorry I can't help you right now. We'll try to find out more about this."

He wished it was just his feeling, but the last words sounded more like a threat than not.  

"Can you tell me what exactly are in the shipment?"

This he could do. "Fifty crates of rifles and ammunition each, five samples of the latest gatling-gun, and..." He winced inwardly, "...as promised before, a sample of the new land-based, breech-loading Armstrong cannon. Believe me when I said that we mourn the loss as much as you do."

Sakamoto nodded. "We'll keep an eye open for it. Something like that is bound to be very conspicuous. You will have the replacement shipment?"

"Yes. If the journey goes well, it should arrive next Friday." Jamieson changed the topic. "Is there any chance I can arrange a meeting with Mr. Katsura? A certain person from my homeland has arrived and would like to meet with him." If Sakamoto was as high up in the chain as he implied, then he would know of ambassador Rutherford. 

"Yes, we know." Sakamoto paused almost minutely, then a smile covered his lapse. "I can arrange for a meeting... say... next Friday, right after that certain shipment arrive, eh? "

All right. It was nothing more than he had expected. He supposed if their position were reversed, he would be suspicious too. He could afford to let them play cautious for a while. It would also give his men more time to dig into the shipment raid. They would see if Katsura Kogoro's hands were as white as he claimed to be. The Japanese were not the only one who believed in the virtue of caution.

"Very well. You will contact me again next week?"

"Yes. We'll confirm the meeting time with you." Sakamoto's eyes gazed past him and he gave a slight nod and spoke in Japanese, _"We're finished here."_  
  


_What...?_ Jamieson whirled abruptly around, just in time to see a shadow detached itself from the dark walls of an alley behind him. A dim silhouette of a slender person barely as tall as his chest, hair tied up in a high ponytail. There was not a single sound as he approached, and the way he moved...  

If Sakamoto Ryoma was a skilled swordsman, this one was beyond that. He had seen dancers and fencers who flowed as gracefully, but they did not come close to having that sense of cold lethality that infused the man's every movement.

A living shadow, quiet as death.  

As he came nearer, Jamieson was surprised to discover him to be much younger than he had expected. The bangs of his hair cut short the way young Japanese male not yet passed twenty did, and the face was smooth and unlined except for a stark cross-shaped scar on his left cheek that was at odds with the rest of him. But one gaze into the youth's sharp, deadly cold eyes wiped any doubts he had over his earlier assessment. 

He found himself tensing despite his best efforts as the man moved into what would be attack range. It was ridiculous - if he was one of Sakamoto or Katsura's men, then he had nothing to fear from him, at least for now. But his reflex came from things deeper than thought, a primal level that had sensed and reacted to danger long before humans could understand or articulate that state of mind.

The youth looked up at him fully right before he passed. Jamieson braced as the full weight of that hard gaze was focused on him. In that brief instant, he had the feeling that he had been analyzed, strengths and weaknesses dissected, and catalogued in the other man's brain. He found himself gripping the handle of his gun again.

Sakamoto Ryoma nodded at him again before leaving, the youth shadowing his back. Jamieson let his breath go, then started on his journey back. He was not disappointed with the meeting, Rutherford had expected that they would remain wary. He had his own priority for coming - he needed to know if the _Ishin Shishi_ had not simply swiped their goods and pretended innocence. 

He was ambivalent about his conclusion. Sakamoto Ryoma had been lying when he said he did not know of the stolen shipment. But why was he lying, and what was he hiding – that was the most important question. If the _Ishin Shishi_ was genuinely innocent from the raid, suspicion on their side could make them conceal some important information. Worse, if the _Shishi_ thought that they had been double-crossed, they might turn on them like rabid dogs.

Jamieson could not shake the suspicion that the young man Sakamoto had called was there as a warning. A subtle gesture – _Don't cross us_.   

The night felt a bit colder.     

***


	14. Encounters in the night

Chapter 13: Encounters in the night 

"Thank you for coming". 

"Have a good night." 

"Be careful of patrols."

Five young, feminine voices sang out their farewells to their group of five, accompanied with much giggling and coy looks. Kenshin felt his cheeks redden as Sakamoto Ryoma bid his own effusive good byes to the women standing at the back door of the pleasure house. When one of them turned sly, painted eyes at him, he resolutely fixed his own gaze on the dark alley they were standing on. In this situation, sensitive hearing was not a blessing as he heard several clear invitations for the '_red-haired boy_' to come visit anytime he wanted. 

Mortifying, at the very least. And the unholy glint in Sakamoto's eyes as he looked at him convinced him without a doubt that he would never hear the end of this. His chin sank deeper into the folds of the scarf wrapped around his throat, tugging the soft folds higher up to conceal his too distinctive scar. What the cloth could not obscure, the falling bangs did well to conceal. It was why he had let his hair grow uncut over the months, the longer strands serving to cover his scarred cheek and some of his face. He thought that he had successfully kept anyone from seeing it, keeping his head down and sticking to the shadows during the quick walk through the house's corridors. For sure, if the women had recognized him, they would not be teasing and tormenting him like this all throughout the short walk… would they?

Tasuki took point, the weak light of his half-covered lantern leading the way, the other two men taking guard position behind him. Small roads criss-crossed the path they were taking and Tasuki deftly took a turn here, a bend there, guiding them through confusing twists and turns. The dimly lit warren of alleys was the reason why they had taken the short cut through the brothel. The alleys were seldom patrolled, the guards staying more on the main roads. These times, getting caught outside during late hours could very well result in immediate charge of illegal activity and summary execution on the spot. In the past, many patrons seeking night entertainment had been smuggled discreetly out through the back door of the house. Recently, the sympathetic owner and workers of the house had extended the custom to allow many shishi to come into their domain and made use of the back roads to disappear. 

As they walked, Sakamoto fell back to where Kenshin trailed behind to guard the end of their little procession. 

"They seemed to like you."

Kenshin stifled a groan. "Can we not talk about this, please?"

"About what?"

He laughed softly when Kenshin glared at him and put his hands up. "All right, all right. Let's talk of something else then." Sakamoto slowed his walking until a distance had opened up between the two of them and the rest of the escort, then he murmured, "Do you know that Okubo Toshimitchi will be coming tonight?"

Kenshin threw Sakamoto a startled glance and lowered his voice. "No, I didn't. When did he contact us?"

"The girls back there just told me." At Kenshin's look, he elaborated, "We often use them to pass messages. So far it has worked beautifully. What, do you think I'm there just for fun?" He gave Kenshin a wicked grin, but sobered quickly. "But I'm telling you this for a reason." Sakamoto's voice was pitched low enough that Kenshin could barely hear him. "When we get back, whenever Katsura goes to meet him, I want you to stay with him. If he tries to send you away, tell me and I'll come and make him see some sense, even if I have to sit on him."

Kenshin stared at him. "You believe…"

"I believe nothing," Sakamoto cut in, his face hard. "For something as important as this, it's better to be prepared for the worst – if just so that it may never come to pass. And Kenshin… I want you to watch for attacks from more than one direction." His grim eyes caught Kenshin's. "The last few days, Katsura had managed to sweet-talk and bully those hard heads back at the mansion to agree to a meeting, but some of them were very unhappy about it. Most of those men I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw them, but you and Katsura went a long way back. You, I can trust. Don't let anything happen to him."

Kenshin hold his gaze without flinching. "I won't." Hesitated, then added more softly. "Thank you."

Sakamoto just patted him lightly on the shoulder. Suddenly he frowned at something in front. Kenshin looked up and stopped. The lantern light that had been leading them was no longer moving. Tasuki raised a hand and everyone froze where they were. Kenshin tilted his head, listening hard. For a moment, there was nothing. Then faint sounds of footsteps drifted on the silent air, coming from where the end of the small alley in front opened into the main road. Faint sounds of idle conversations drifted to where they were standing. Tasuki waved his hand back urgently, making a handsign. _Patrols_. Suddenly the lantern light was gone, doused. Darkness leapt back to surround them, but not enough. Kenshin looked back to see the long narrow alley they had come from, and the few scattered lights hanging from some of the houses. The lights were very faint, but it was enough to illuminate their group of five. The nearest intersection was a long way back, too far away to reach without running and making enough noise to give themselves away. 

Tasuki and the other two men was starting to inch their way back cautiously, but they were moving too slow. All it took was one casual look down the alley mouth from one of the patrols, and they would be discovered. Tasuki's expression looked strained. When he caught Kenshin's look, he put both hands' index fingers and thumbs together, forming a triangle. 

_Shinsengumi. _

Kenshin's heart sank. The patrol was not supposed to pass here so soon. By necessity, the Ishin Shishi agents in Kyoto religiously kept track of the various night patrols, particularly those by Shinsengumi who were more prone to kill first and ask questions later. But lately, their pattern had changed and no one knew why. More frequency, more areas covered, less predictability. Just their rotten luck to chance upon one of their variations. 

His heart began to pound faster. Tasuki and the two guards' body seemed to move in an exaggerated slow motion out of a Kabuki play. The patrol would pass right in front of them, and the Shinsengumi was not likely to miss them. A memory of the too-fresh image from last night twisted inside him. An inevitable fight was coming, yet he found himself intensely reluctant to face it.  

But maybe...there was another way. He narrowed his eyes, furiously trying to weight the advantages against the dangers. It had worked before. Hopefully it would work again.  

Kenshin leaned towards the man beside him. "Sakamoto-san," he whispered, "whatever happens, just follow Tasuki's lead. And don't go after me." He ignored the man's questioning look and quickly, soundlessly from long practice, moved to the mouth of the alley. On the way, he looked at Tasuki whose eyes widened before he nodded back in understanding. 

The footsteps were less than five meters away. Kenshin took a deep breath, readying himself. Then he stepped out of the street corner and walked into the open. 

Right in front of the Shinsengumi patrol.

They saw him immediately. One of them called out to him gruffly, not yet realizing the identity of the man in front of them. "Hey, you! No loitering in the street after dark. What are you doing there?"

Kenshin stood with his right side facing them. As the man with the lantern walked nearer, the former hitokiri tossed his head aside to reveal his left cheek. The light of the lantern gleamed off the dark reddish sheen of his long hair, and the very distinctive cross scar on his face.

The reaction was instantaneous. 

"BATTOUSAI!!" 

The scream of recognition was the signal Kenshin had been waiting for. He exploded forward, fingers taut around his katana's hilt. One deadly flash of arcing steel, and the scout with the lantern fell to the ground choking on blood from a slashed throat. The Shinsengumi had not been prepared for anything like this, and they instinctively flinched aside. Kenshin shot through their loose formation and out the other end. His dash quickly took him around the corner and out of sight. 

"Nan…"

"KUSO!!"

"GET HIM--!"

All nine men turned right around and chased after the fleeing swordsman, leaving behind the dead scout and four Ishin Shishis peering out from the alley mouth. 

Sakamoto barely had time to gape before Tasuki grabbed him by the arm and he was dragged headlong down the now empty street. "Wait," he hissed, craning his neck back, "what about him? He had the whole *troop* after him."

Tasuki did not even bother to slow down. "Aah, he'll be fine. He's faster than they are, they'll never catch him. He'll just lead them around for a while, then come back home. If we take it slow, he might even arrive before we do."

Sakamoto stared at the other man, only to see that he was dead serious. "_Hee_…" 

Tasuki veered into another dark alley, and after a couple more twisting turns, they finally dropped into a fast walk. Sakamoto glanced at the younger man. "Tell me," he murmured, bemused despite himself. "Do they always do that? Drop everything and run after him I mean."

Tasuki's teeth flashed white in the darkness as he gave a quick grin. "Not always, no, but the Shinsengumi has this thing against him. They absolutely hate him - he always managed to slip through their fingers and make them look bad, you know? Not to mention the number of men he'd killed. They always lose it when they see Himura, so we can slip people off while they're chasing after him."

"Why do I have the feeling this is not the first time you've done this?" 

One of the guards laughed softly, "This is the third time."

Tasuki nodded, "We told Himura the last time that it was too dangerous to try again. They have to wise up sooner or later." His eyes flickered towards Sakamoto. "But I suppose he thinks tonight is important enough to take the risk."

Sakamoto looked back at where they had come from. Shaking his head at the whole outrageous thing, he had to ask one final question, "Who the hell had come up with this crazy idea?"

Tasuki had a funny look at his face. "What, are you mad? Of course it was Himura himself. D' you think any of us is crazy enough to suggest something like that to his face?"

***

"Stop!!"

Kenshin sprinted along with half of his attention focused on the commotion behind him. He could hear the Shinsengumi cursing and clattering behind him. Judging from the sound, they were keeping up with him, and they were taking care that to stay together, not strung out from the main group. They were learning, or their leader was a smart man.  

In truth, it would be easy for him to outrun them. Their precaution protected them from being cut down one by one, but it also slowed them down. However that was not his intention. The further he could string them along, away from Sakamoto Ryoma and the others, the better it would be. Which was why he had taken care to keep only one step ahead of them, dangling himself like a prize capture in front of them.  

However, it was time to end this. 

Kenshin put on a burst of speed, nearly slamming on a wall during a full-speed turn, one palm slapping the wall to aid his turn without slowing down. The shouts behind him grew more frantic as he turned a corner. 

He had not been running blindly. In his two years in Kyoto, he had tried his best to memorize the areas, especially the complicated web of alleyways that connect the back doors of the main roads. Ahead was a narrow six-roads junction, an intersection in the middle of poor housing areas, each branching off into dark alleys. This section of Kyoto was a veritable maze, and it would be easy to loose them here. 

He burst out into the intersection, chose one road at random and ran down the lightless passageway. He had nearly reached the end when a wavery yellow light appeared from the opposite end, previously hidden by the walls. He had less than a heartbeat of horrified realization, then he nearly collided head-on with a group of men just turning into the alley. 

There were six of them. And they completely blocked his way out.

In retrospect, it was probably better for all of them if he had just bulled his way through, the way he had through the Shinsengumi. But it was too sudden and his reflexes reacted faster than his thoughts could form, his legs skidding to a stop a bare moment before he slammed against  the first person.  

The man stared down at him in astonishment - a youth barely older than Kyosuke, supplied his mind irrelevantly. The lantern he was carrying cast a weak light on his black uniform, its somber color in contrast with the Shinsengumi's more flamboyant white-and-blues, and just as recognizable. 

Iwamarigumi. 

_Oh gods. _

They locked eyes for an instant, Kenshin's heartbeat thundering in his ears, seeing the man's mouth opening in slow motion to ask a question. 

Then another man behind him recoiled violently and cursed. 

"Battousai!! Kojiro, get away…"

The blanket of ice snapped around his mind and his hand was moving before he was conscious of it. Steel slashed through the lantern and the youth carrying it, a barest of resistance as it sheared through rib cage. Blood spurted out of the opened chest and the man's mouth. 

He rammed his body against the dying youth and the body fell back, tangling some of the men. His blood was singing in his veins, the visceral smell of fresh blood hitting into his nerves and everything slowed down. 

He could see the men screaming in front of him, trying to shove the dead body away and get to him, the narrow alley hindering them. He could hear the Shinsengumi's running steps behind him, drawn to the correct direction by the sound of fighting. 

He only had seconds before they would trap him in the middle with no way to go. 

_Nine behind, five in front. The choice was very clear._

He was barely aware of his lips drawing back in a snarl and he sprang up and above the tangle of men in front of him, both hands drawing the katana up and slamming it down like a hammer from heaven. A glimpse of wide-open eyes, mouths sagging in shock and his _Ryuu Tsui-sen_ cleaved through two men at once, one man's head bursting like ripe melon and another sheared through from shoulder to halfway down his chest. He twisted and wrenched his katana back, landing lightly on the men's still falling bodies and launched himself forward. 

He could hear the Shinsengumi halfway down the alley. He kept his concentration focused ahead, to the remaining four men. Open space was behind their bodies, the way out of the constricting walls, the way to life and freedom.   

Speed. Speed and viciousness. He had no time for anything else. 

A spear came thrusting for his chest and he smoothly half-turned his body away from it, his katana angled vertical and slid screeching along the handle's length. The razor sharp edge sliced through the fingers holding the spear, and into the man's chest. Blood sprayed out in a curtain of red. The remaining man hesitated, halfway between running away and charging him, terror and rage making his pupils dilating in terror. If he ran, Kenshin would have let him go. 

Instead, the man charged him. 

Kenshin ducked down under the man's clumsy thrust and sliced up from his lower position, opening the man's bowel in one ruthless slash. The man gave a wet choke and hunched above him. A wet squelching sound from _behind alerted him, and with an abrupt twist, his free hand thrust his sheathed wakizashi angled and back. A heavy jarring skinned his left palm bloody and nearly tore the hilt from his hand, but it deflected the thrust coming for his back. _

Before the Shinsengumi who had attacked him recovered his balance, Kenshin twisted around the last man's falling body and ran for the exit. He burst out of the alley and veered away from the rest of the Imawarigumi, stragglers who had arrived too late to help their friends. 

Kenshin fled down one lightless road, chased by enraged howls and leaving a grisly trail of dripping red behind him.

***

The pursuit had taken on a quality of a nightmare, one that would not stop. He ran past alley after alley, turned corners until he ran out of count. Several times he thought he had lost them, but always they returned back, hot on his trail. 

Kenshin was acutely aware of the kind of trail he was leaving. The massacre in the alley had practically drenched him with blood. Thin trails of it still dripped from his hair, his clothes, his zori. The Shinsengumi could probably find him simply by following the smell of fresh blood on him. It enveloped him in a cloud, in the air he gasped in. 

Blood called to blood. The litany kept circling in his mind - the red in his vision would not recede. He had to get the blood off of him somehow.   

An idea came to him. He put on a burst of speed, turning a corner and skidding over the wet street surface. Puddles made splashing sound as he ran over them. This alley he turned into was behind houses. He spied a low wall. _There! Once he was out of sight, he gathered all his strength and leapt up at the wall. He landed lightly, the tiles under him barely making a sound, then jumped down into the deserted backyard on the opposite side. The Shinsengumi would be thrown off for a while, but that was not his only reason.  _

He spied a well on one corner, two full buckets of water prepared for the night standing beside it (or from the rain). A small piece of luck on this abyssmal night. He ran over to it, and grabbing the bucket, he upended it over himself. The cold water poured over him, sluicing off most of the still running blood on him. 

"Dare-ka?!"

Biting off a curse, Kenshin threw the bucket to the middle-aged man emerging from the outer restroom. He sped past towards the side yard, going for the front gate of the house. He heard the man yelped in pain, but his concentration was focused behind him. The shouts from the Shinsengumi indicated that they'd heard the brief commotion and was onto him once more. 

He burst out of the front gate to the main road, his lungs burning from the run. Some of the Shinsengumi were running for the main road, obviously trying to encircle him and trap him in the house. There was no way he could reach the crossroad before they saw him. 

A dim outline caught the corner of his vision. A shadowed side alley, the narrow entrance blocked by wooden planks that had fallen across. Decision made, he skidded and ran for the alley. The gap under the planks was barely big enough for his small frame to squeeze through, definitely not big enough for a grown man. He flattened himself against the wall and stilled himself. 

Just in time. The first of the Shinsengumi burst into the main road, encircling the house. Shouts rang harsh in the late night air.  

"Did you see him?"

"Where is he?"

"He didn't pass your way?"

"Damn it, he can't have gone far!"

"One of you stay here, the rest split up and down the street."

            "Harada gumichou's gonna kill us if we lose him…"

"Get going!!"

Kenshin flattened himself against the alley wall. One trooper had loitered behind near the alley. There was only one exit to this alley, but the moment he stepped out the trooper would see him.

He'd had to kill the man without any sound. 

His katana and wakizashi were too long for that kind of work. He reached over to his back, where he kept Tomoe's tanto. It would be perfect for slitting the man's throat. That conscious thought froze him before his fingers close over the smooth handle. 

_No. _

He drew back his hand, silently drawing out his wakizashi instead. He would not stain her tanto for this kind of thing.  

The sentry was facing the wrong way, hand lax on his katana hilt. He was not really expecting any danger. Kenshin crept near the entrance on silent feet, his ki damped down to its lowest level. The man did not move. 

Hitokiri Battousai leapt out of the alley, crossing the distance to his prey in one bound. The man started to turn, but it was too late. One swift kick to the back of knees, and he crumpled to the ground on his knees, his cry of surprise silenced by one ruthless palm clamped over his mouth. The blade of the wakizashi pierced his back, through the heart, the stained steel-tip jabbing out of the man's white and blue vest. The man gave a faint, incoherent gurgle, clawing at the blade poking out of his chest. It took a mere two seconds for him to fall limp, another second for his killer to step back, allowing the body to fall to the ground face-first. 

Kenshin gave the man one final appraising glance, satisfied that the trooper was dead, then took off the other direction. He was four blocks away and out of the range of the searching Shinsengumi when the thought hit him.

It would have been just as effective to hit the man unconscious as to kill him. 

***

_continued in chapter 13b…_


	15. Sacrificial Pawns

Chapter 14: Sacrificial Pawns 

* * *

Writer's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Lisa, without whom this chapter will never see the light of day. 

* * *

The teahouse was located within a thick inner garden in a corner of the mansion that was usually deserted. Tonight, however, dim candle light shone from within the closed partitions. A few guards knelt in watchful vigil, well outside the range of hearing. Only the three occupants in the room would know the content of the conversation this late night.

The room the men were seated in was simple to the point of austere, but what few decorations and implements were there were of excellent quality. The fragrance of sake wafted in the room as Katsura poured into three delicate white porcelain cups in front of him. Sakamoto Ryoma lifted two of the cups and offered one to the person sitting beside him. "Here you go, Okubo-san. Did you have a good journey here? It was a long journey from Kagoshima to here."

The other man, in his late thirties with a narrow face and a neat mustache bowed his head and accepted the cup. "Thank you," he murmured. "It was quite uneventful, thankfully. Unlike yours, Sakamoto-san. I am glad I do not have to be the bearer of bad news to Saigo-san."

Sakamoto gave a lop-sided grin. "Thanks to Katsura here and his fine group of men."

"I see."

Katsura demurred, a round of drink was consumed and re-poured before he turned to their visitor. "I thank you for agreeing to meet with me at such a late time, Okubo-san. But I thought it may help us to have a private discussion." Unspoken was the understanding – _away from prying eyes_.

"It is of no problem. However, first, let me apologize on behalf of my colleague. It was truly unfortunate that Saigo-san was unable to meet with you last July. He was delayed by government official business, and was unable to make it to Shimonoseki on time. It is not our intention to insult you by our tardiness."

Katsura nodded, somewhat cool. "Apology accepted."

"Sakamoto-san," Okubo nodded to Sakamoto Ryoma, "has forwarded us your letter. We, that is, Saigo-san and myself, found ourselves in agreement with your points."

"I also bring good news. Just before I left, your colleague, Ito-san and Inoue-san had sent a letter to me saying that they have managed to secure seven thousand rifles from Nagasaki, through the offices of our Kaientai trading company."

Katsura could not help a genuine smile at that. "Ah, that is excellent news. We have been trying to bypass the Bakufu blockade on foreign weapons for a long time. But as you know, ever since Shimonoseki, Bakufu has been watching us so closely that it is close to impossible to do some things. We have sent men to Nagasaki before, to see if they could contact foreign merchants willing to sell weapons, but it has come to no avail."

"We are happy to be of assistance. Our _han_ has long prepare ourselves and we are in the process of building naval yards for our new modern navy. I'm sure Sakamoto-san has already told you, we have been using the Kaientai to supply us with artillery and ships. I believe we can continue to help you obtain more advanced weapons through our Kaientai offices in Nagasaki. As for your request for a ship, it may stretch some of our resources…"

"But?"

"As you know, we are currently building an army. We have the man-power, but Satsuma land is not the most fertile ground, while Choshu has long been known for the richness of her granary."

"Ah… yes. I do believe we have a little surplus this year."

"Perhaps more than a little?"

Katsura smiled but did not elaborate. Just like Satsuma, Choshu had been preparing itself. There was surplus in the granaries for more than two years, but there was no need to reveal the card to Satsuma at this point.

"I will find a way to route some… excess… to the appropriate merchant channels."

Okubo nodded, but his face remained neutral. Too much so. "Katsura-san… the last time we corresponded, quite a few of your people were still opposed to our alliance. They also derided our dealings with our foreign friends. Tell me, how is the situation now? I must admit, my people have started asking questions on when we formalise our alliance in the open."

_Here it comes. _Katsura affected nonchalance as he responded with a confidence that he did not feel. "There will always be a few stubborn people who cannot see beyond old grudges. However, their numbers are diminishing rapidly and so are their influence."

"I see." Okubo's face revealed nothing except a mild thoughtfulness. "We have a few back at home too, but Saigo-san is even now hard at work in Kagoshima convincing the rest of the nobles to support us. We understand that there is little to be gained by further negotiation with Bakufu. Considering how much armed dealings we had made, on our behalf as well as yours…" A flicker of steel under half-lidded eyes. "We would like some assurance that Choshu is as committed to this alliance as we are."

Katsura saw Sakamoto's eyes flickered towards him, gauging his response. He had schooled himself from tensing in indignation, but it was hard. Fortunately, he was aware of this and had think of a partial solution.

"Tell me, Okubo-san. Ever since the trading between our two _han_ stopped, our people has been bemoaning the loss of a good trading partner. I wonder if it is the same case with yours?"

If Okubo was thrown by the apparent non-sequitur, he did not show it. "Yes, there have been quite a few complaints." The profitable grain trading had vastly diminished, most of it gone underground, ever since the formal trading lines had been cut following the old hostilities between the two provinces.

"Do you think your people would be amenable to re-opening the old grain trade lines between us?"

There was finally a reaction from Okubo. A raised an eyebrow and a stroke of a lean chin. "Economic alliance…_ka_?" Katsura waited patiently as Okubo pondered his own positions, judging which of his supporters would benefit from the re-opened trading lines, how that would juggle the power balance, and came to the same conclusion Katsura had when he had considered this solution.

"How soon?"

Katsura stopped himself from sighing in relief. Okubo had taken the bait. "If we finalise the agreement before this month ends, the grain can starts moving before this year's winter comes around."

Okubo grunted softly. "And the rates?"

"Considering our current trading relationship with Satsuma, perhaps preferred partner rates can be arranged."

Okubo finally smiled a thin-lipped smile. "If you could let me have a look at a draft of the agreements…?"

"I will have it delivered to you by tomorrow, and we can have another discussion after you have a chance to look through it."

Okubo finally smiled a thin-lipped smile. "That is acceptable. I do believe that this shall come as a pleasant surprise to quite a few of my people."

Katsura allowed himself a smile for the first time in this meeting, Sakamoto beaming at the two of them from the side. "That is our sincerest hope. Shall we drink to it, then?"

* * *

For Kenshin, the journey back to the mansion passed in a blur. He hid himself when voices or footsteps warned of approaching men, though they were thankfully far and between in the late hours. But otherwise, his mind stayed in a clouded haze. His thoughts were unfocused, but perhaps it was better that way.

He passed the guard that opened the back door for him, ignoring the way the man stumbled back from him with wide-eyed shock. He did not go straight to his quarter, instead taking a sharp left to where the servants' well was located. Dawn was still several hours away and the courtyard was as deserted as the rest.

Kenshin would not have cared if the courtyard was packed with people. Right now, he only wanted one thing, for the water in the well to wash the stink of death and madness away from him. He wanted it with an intense desperation that bordered on irrationality.

He brought the first bucket up with jerky pulls and upended it over his head. The cool water hit his over-heated body with a shock, but it was not enough. He could still taste, smell, _feel_ it. It was in his hair, his skin, his lungs, his mouth.

It was driving him mad.

He drew another bucket with hands that were shaking. It splashed half its load as his haste made him clumsy. He scrubbed his palms and fingernails over every patch of visible skin, trying to remove all trace of blood that was on him, hating the sticky heaviness of the drenched fabric, sickened by the cloying sweet smell that paradoxically became stronger as the water soaked him to the skin. His stomach roiled and he fought against reflexive heaving.

Not the first time he had to kill a large group of men all at once. But it was the first time it took place in such a narrow and enclosed area. So narrow there was no place to evade the falling blood. So much concentrated in so little space that it was practically raining all over him, drenching him. Until droplets of it was inhaled into his nostrils.

He gulped a mouthful of water and spat it without swallowing. He realized not just his hands, his whole body was trembling. But not from shock. Not even from fear.

Anger.

He was angry. Furious. Guilty too – but most of all… angry.

Angry at the Imawarigumi for being tardy and late, causing the clear road to become a death trap. Angry at them for not turning away and running when they knew the only choice he had was to go _through_ them.

And lastly, angry at himself for butchering them so cursed easily.

He was breathing hard now, body shaking.

That was ridiculous. One should not feel guilty over one's kill, not when the result could have been the other way round.

But he did.

A sound emerged from his lips, and distantly he thought he was laughing. But he did not recognize that sound, surely that mad sound was not his, was it? And a part of him woke up and recoiled at what he had just thought.

_Stupid, stupid fool. You are angry because they had not gone along with your clever little scheme of escaping with no deaths involved. Because they had dared to go and messed up your clean, pretty little plan. _

_Arrogant, presumptious fool! What do you think this is, a game? String along the stupid pawns, lead them on a few merry chases, come back with none the wiser. Who do you think you are?!_

_ Murderer!_

He flinched as the memory of accusing scream struck him like a whip-lash. The woman had called him that, aptly. Everything that he touched turned to death. When would he learn his lesson? It did not matter what his intentions were. Death followed him like an extension of his shadow. Laughable that he thought he could turn from killer to protector. Killing came so instinctively to him, alternatives did not even occur to him until it was too late. Certainly too late to do that last trooper any good.

At that moment, with the miasma of blood so thickly surrounding him still, a life-time of killing seemed to stretch before him - an endless road of madness. And he could not breathe for the crushing weight of it.

_Maybe this is what my fate is. Maybe this is what I deserve._

"Kenshin?"

He whirled around with a snarl on his lips, whole body taut with barely contained tension. The owner of the voice stared at him with widening eyes, but not backing away. That was important, somehow. It brought him back, a little, enough to recognize the one standing in front of him. Kyosuke. Kyosuke with his gentle brown eyes, who somehow managed to kept the kindness in his soul despite the killings he had done. Kyosuke who had stayed by his side even when everyone else barely tolerated him and watched him as warily as if watching a barely-tamed wild animal.

Kenshin turned back to the well, shame adding to the welter of emotions inside him. He grabbed his katana, suddenly wanting nothing more than to disappear, away from all eyes. Even Kyosuke's. Maybe especially Kyosuke's.

But the other man was not so easily deterred. He stepped in front of Kenshin when he would have moved away from the well.

"What happened… to you?"

"Nothing," Kenshin grated, skirting Kyosuke.

"But… are you injured? There's so much blood…"

"Don't touch me!" The shout seemed to come out of nowhere. "Stay away from me!"

Hand half-outstretched towards him, where Kyosuke was about to touch his shoulder. Hurt now evident in his eyes, along with confusion.

"…Himura?" Another voice, vaguely familiar.

He wanted to shout at the new voice to leave him alone, for all of them to leave him alone. He felt like a rice paper stretched too thin, like the faintest touch would tear him apart. But the angry words caught in his throat when he saw Sakamoto Ryoma and Katsura Kogoro standing by the entrance to the inner hallway. It had been Sakamoto who had called him, but there was a small group of strangers standing behind him. Men who bore arms and whose hands had dropped to their katana hilts with tensed bodies. The narrow-faced man in the middle stared at him with widened eyes.

Katsura took one step forward and to the left, placing himself in his direct line of sight and not so coincidentally in front of the clump of strangers. His handsome face was as tense as he had ever seen it.

"Himura, report."

He started, realized that his right fingers had tightly wrapped themselves around the hilt of his katana, completely without his conscious thought.

He had to take several deep breaths, focusing on that familiar word to force his thoughts into some coherent form. _There is no threat here_, Katsura was telling him. Prying his fingers away from the hilt felt almost like physical pain. "It was… nothing… important, Katsura-sama." _Nothing_. He wanted to laugh at that. Not important to the big picture, just enough to tip him halfway to hell. "I was… careless. I thought…" He bit down on the rest. No. No excuses. "_Iya_. I was careless. There was a patrol of Imawarigumi. I had to… go through them." _Go through_. What a nice, clean word. Nothing implied of the carnage that had ensued. But the evidence of it could clearly be seen on his body, in the puddle of water beneath him that reeked of copper. "My sincere apologies. This may make the patrols more aggressive."

"I see." Katsura regarded him for several seconds before quietly speaking, "What's done is done, you do what you have to. But I'm sure you are tired. We will discuss this later, after you had some rest."

Kenshin bowed to him, relieved to be released, ashamed at his loss of control in front of strangers. When he turned away, he knew Katsura had allowed him to flee for a while, had given him some time to gather the pieces of his armor back together before he would need to confront it again during the inevitable questioning to follow.

He was grateful, but he was not sure if his armor could ever fit together again.

* * *

Ryoma threw Katsura a troubled look as they watched Himura moved beyond the doorway, the big _shishi_ he did not recognize following suit after a slight hesitation. However, before he could say anything, Okubo asked quietly from behind. "Who is he?"

Ryoma looked at Okubo in surprise. Why would Okubo wanted to know? His bodyguards were still looking a little twitchy, barely relaxing as Himura moved out of sight. Ryoma did not blame them. The unexpectedly vicious aura that Himura had given off had even him twitching for the sword he left in his room, and he had known the kid for years.

Katsura glanced back, then deliberately resumed their interrupted walk. And to think that they had deliberately chosen the back gate to prevent Okubo from encountering any uncomfortable confrontations.

"He is one of my trusted men." Katsura replied quietly. "I trust him with my life. He will not talk. I will make sure the other one won't either."

Okubo's voice was subdued. "For a moment, I thought a _shura_ had stepped out of hell itself."

"He is not a berserker," Katsura said in a sharper tone than normal.

Ryoma was not so sure of that, but he did not want to voice that out loud where Okubo could hear it. There was something thoughtful in the man's eyes that made him uncomfortable.

Once they had escorted Okubo and his entourage out, Ryoma turned to Katsura and spoke without preamble.

"He's breaking apart."

Katsura took a deep breath, turning to walk back to their lodgings. "I know."

"I'm not squeamish, but even so that's a _lot_ of blood. How many do you think?"

"More than half, probably all of them. He was trained to kill, Ryoma, not fight honourable duels in dojos where matches stop at the first blood."

"You told me once that he's not suited to be a killer."

"Yes."

By tacit agreement, their path took them back to the now deserted teahouse. They left the lanterns unlit, choosing to leave the wall partition open for moonlight to filter in. Ryoma seated himself and watched Katsura filled both their sake cups to the brim. The opened Katsura took a small sip, then sighed. "But he is too strong, too valuable, to risk being used by any other parties. Shinsuke once described the sword of Hiiten Mitsurugi Ryuu akin to a force of nature. If I let him go, do you think one of the others would not have approached him?"

"And I honestly don't think he could have stayed out in any case. He's young, idealistic." Katsura's soft smile was self-mocking. "He reminds me of Shinsuke and myself when we were both young. And it's not as if there are that many people I can trust my back to these days."

"I don't want to see him ruined."

Katsura's reply was harsh. "You think I want to?"

Sakamoto took his time answering. "No. But I know if you think it's worth it, you'll sacrifice him."

Katsura flinched minutely and was silent. Sakamoto took a gulp of the sake that did not taste as good as before. "Damn, it's gone cold." He waited for the other man to collect himself.

When Katsura spoke, his voice was soft with bone-deep anguish. "I watched more friends die the last two years than I did my whole life, Ryoma. I watched more good men hunted to death like animals, stripped of their honour and executed like low criminals. And some of those men, I sent to their deaths."

Katsura downed the content of his cup in one gulp and slammed it down on the mat.

"When I started down this road, I know there will be sacrifices, innocents or not. I know I'll be walking on a road paved by the fallen dead, both my enemies and my friends. Whether or not it is right, what is done cannot be changed. But it is my responsibility to see it to the end, to finish this the way it should be. No matter how hard... I have to do my best to see it through. To do any less would demean the worth of all the people who had died."

"So you're right. If I think the price is worth it, I will use up and sacrifice the lives of young men like Himura. And if fates are kind, all of it may actually mean something in the end."

There was a long silence, then Sakamoto said, not looking at Katsura, "Bakufu is not going to let this slide." A tacit apology, letting the matter slide to less personal matters.

"I'll instruct our people to lie low." Katsura wiped his palm over his face, betraying his weariness. "I wish this hadn't happen at this time. We can't afford close government attention right now. And something else is happening, my sources have been telling me there are a lot of underground activities. It could just be some criminal gang actions, or it could be something else. I wish I know more." Katsura gave a gusty sigh. "But let's talk of something else. You haven't told me how your meeting went tonight."

It was Ryoma's turn to sigh. He sipped the hot sake, grateful for the warmth it gave him. "The contact said the shipment was gone in a raid, and they didn't know who did it. We know _we_ didn't do it. So either he's lying or…"

"…or there's a third party interfering." Katsura frowned down at his cup of sake. "To tell you the truth, I don't know which of the possibilities worries me more."

Ryoma sucked down more sake. "Well, if he's lying, the Brits have betrayed us and we are completely out of luck. If he isn't, then we just acquired ourselves another enemy." He leant back against the railing of the pavilion to stare thoughtfully at the half-full moon. "Personally, I don't think he's lying. On the other hand, without insider information and help, I really don't think it's possible to get away with that kind of weapons raid on heavily guarded warehouse."

Katsura grimaced. "You just pointed out the third possibility. That someone from the embassy leaked out information to aid in the raid. With or without the Ambassador's knowledge."

"That too."

"Which puts us back to square one. We don't know either way." Katsura leaned forward. His face looked haggard under the moonlight.

"We need this alliance Sakamoto. The second punitive force, led by Shogun Iemochi himself, will arrive in Choshu sometime late this year. Shinsaku is even now rallying and training our people for war. We don't know what the outcome of this will be, we don't know how long it will take, but we do know that there will be more battles after this."

"What we do know for sure is that we are going to war with Tokugawa. And for that, we have to prepare for the worst."

Sakamoto grimaced. "Yes, I know. Look, they promised a replacement shipment coming in next Friday. The contact was also willing to arrange a meeting with the new ambassador. I told him we'll meet this guy when they can show us the shipment, so we'll arrange a meeting sometime end of next week. We'll see then if they are really sincere with this, hmm? If not, well, it's better to know sooner than later."

"How far can we trust them?"

"Heh, always hope for the best and prepare for the worst. That's how we've lived so far, isn't it? And let's just pray there won't be any idiot hot-heads stirring up troubles in the meantime."

Katsura gave Sakamoto a tired smile. "I don't think both of us combined have enough good karma for that."

"Damn, you're right. Oh well, here's to hope anyway." The sound of ceramic cups clicking was soft in the dead of night.

* * *

Hours later as false dawn swept the sky, one man sat alone in his room with a cooling jar of untouched sake, while another lay beside a slumbering woman and listened to the whispering of the wind. Elsewhere, a simple farmer turned soldier carefully refold a yellowing letter spotted with dark-brown patches, the thin rice paper creased from many refolding, and in a neighbouring room, a boy turned killer tossed and dreamed of carnelian rain.

* * *

NOTES:

Writer's rambling:

OMG, I can't believe I actually started writing this again, and actually finishing a chapter!! I deeply and abjectly apologize to all of you who had read DSBL and were left hanging for so long. I stopped writing this for a long time because it's by far the most labour-intensive fic I have, and I can't handle the pressure of full-time work (horrible, horrible underpaid-overworked job), family stress, and fic writing at the same time. I did finish a few shorter fics and started a few others on a whim, but DSBL is more than a whim to me and I have this horrible need to give this ficcie the best I can. Which translates to almost no writing for years, bleh! ;;.

As for why I started writing again – this is solely due to all of you wonderful, wonderful people who wrote in and ask for continuations, and some who even spent time and effort (both of which I know are in such short supplies) to help me preview some sections. Lisa, this chapter is so definitely dedicated to you! (forgive me for going quiet and dead again after the last email, no excuse, just my deepest apologies)

I still have a horrible feeling that I'm tangling my plotlines all over the place, and that I may be forced to re-write certain sections once I've progressed far enough. But as long as I know that people are still reading this after all this time, I will try to keep on writing (ok, I think you may need to prod me now and then ;;). Feel free to scream at me to get off my butt and go on writing. And as always, suggestions, recommendations, errors pointing are all gratefully welcomed.

And gods, I've forgotten what it was like being gripped by the muse . I've been locked here in front of the screen for almost 8 hours non-stop, and I got work tomorrow, uwaaa…

Historical notes:

The meeting described here, did not actually exist in history (not in recorded history in any case :). But the Choshu and Satsuma leaders were in contact during this time, which lead to the resumption of trade between Choshu and Satsuma han, Choshu supplying grain to Satsuma army, and Kaientai helping Choshu in obtaining foreign weapons. For the history buff, there was an attempted meeting between Katsura Kogoro and Saigo Takamori on July in Shimonoseki, but Saigo cancelled at the last moment. Katsura was already there, and was pretty pissed that Saigo decided not to come just like that. From many accounts, even though Katsura and Saigo were pretty much the spear-heads in their respective han for Sat-Cho alliance, they were still at logger-heads with each other. Okubo Toshimitchi supported the alliance, but was not as strongly involved in its creation. Takasugi Shinsaku himself was strongly against Satsuma. Sakamoto Ryoma really had had his work cut out for him, trying to bring these two together ;.


End file.
